The Last Dragon Egg
by Viridis Lupus
Summary: The Great Dragon has asked Merlin to rescue the last dragon egg left whilst King Uther has asked Arthur to destroy it. They must travel together, with different agendas, across the continent in order to find it. What will happen when they do? Epic!
1. Cry for Help

**Author's Note –** **Hope you enjoy.**

One large amber eye snapped open beneath a wrinkled lid, the pupil contracting momentarily as it adjusted to the dim light. A massive scaly tail swished in distress and leathery wings flapped, anxiously. All he could hear, all that consumed his mind, was a scream – a scream of terror and pain and anguish. It was as if whoever had released such a cry had just discovered they had lost everything that they valued; everything that they cared about in the world.

Then the scream seemed to peter into a pitiful wail: full of loss and mourning.

The Great Dragon knew exactly who this voice belonged to, sounding so young and innocent, and at first he could not believe it. He had long since given up ever hearing another voice in his head – for years he had been alone and isolated. Yet, here was this petrified disembodied creature reaching out to him.

_Help me. Please. Where is everyone? Where have they gone?_

So desperately sorrowful was the tone of the questions that the Great Dragon felt a single tear drop onto his scaly cheek. It was a miracle. How could this one have escaped the net? How could it have survived? _Everyone _was supposed to be dead. And yet, here was this new life. No longer was he alone.

_They are dead, my child. I am the only one left._

There was no reply for a few moments and the Great Dragon held his breath in anticipation and worry. It was a lot for a youngster to take in to discover that its entire race had been wiped out.

_We are alone? _Its voice was soft and unsure.

_Yes. Are you hatched yet?_

_No. I am not. I don't want to come out. Not if everyone is gone. _An infantile dragon, he had thought as much.

_You must. _

_I can't._

And then the Great Dragon felt the unborn dragon break the telepathic link which they shared. It was a link that all dragons had, when they had been alive, an easy way to communicate over the long distances which they travelled often but since they had been eradicated, by Uther and his ancestors, there had been no one. The youngling's voice was a breath of fresh air in the dank, dark cavern in which he resided.

However, if it was never to hatch because of its fears and loneliness then the Great Dragon would be alone forever more. It was unlikely that there were anymore un-hatched eggs out there. He needed to find the baby and help it, raise it, so he could perhaps one day bring back the ancient race. But how was he supposed to do that whilst he was trapped in this godforsaken cave?

And then it came to him. There was only one person that could possibly help him.

_Merlin_.

Beating his wings, determinedly, the Great Dragon summoned the boy.

* * *

Merlin was busy carefully trying to get the last kink out of Arthur's well-used chain mail - knocking it with a rather large hammer to be exact. It was being very difficult and he was growing more and more frustrated. He knew that his master would be back very soon from his meeting with the King and would expect his armour to be ready to use. Well, if Merlin couldn't get this damn kink out then the prince would not be happy.

Giving the metal a particularly ferocious whack, the manservant jumped for joy as the rings slid apart and the mail became smooth and untroubled once more.

Feeling mightily pleased with himself, Merlin hung the chain mail up beside Arthur's wardrobe and set about sorting the rest of the clothes he would undoubtedly need to change into in order to practice in the training grounds. There was a thick leather undershirt, loose black trousers and his light, comfortable boots. He added a pair of woolly socks on the pile and sat down, finished.

As he was breathing a sigh of relief, however, he heard a sound. A very familiar and very irritating sound.

_Merlin_.

He knew at once that it was the Great Dragon. Whenever the dragon summoned him he knew something bad was about to happen which usually involved him risking his life for Arthur in some ridiculous way and then getting _no _credit for it. Therefore, he was less than happy to follow the backstairs down into the bowels of the castle. He had to go though because he knew he owed a lot to the huge scaly beast.

_Merlin, I need you_.

"I know," he muttered to himself, "Can't you see I'm coming?" Why was everyone constantly ordering him around and making him work? Arthur, Gaius and now the damn dragon.

Stepping, apprehensively, onto the rocky ledge which was the podium upon he spoke to the dragon, Merlin stared up into the inky blackness of the cavern and waited. He was a tad irked already considering the fact that the Great Dragon had asked him to come here and then he didn't even have the decency to be waiting there for him. He sighed, he supposed he shouldn't be in such a bad mood so early in the day. Usually, it was late evening by the time he really reached the end of his tether.

"Dragon!" he called.

And then he appeared out of nowhere, alighting on the outcrop of rocks in the middle of the cavern, his expression was unsurprisingly grave. There was something different about his demeanour though and suddenly Merlin was intrigued to know exactly what had changed him. He held his flickering torch in his hand and waited.

"Merlin," the Great Dragon breathed in somewhat of a relieved way, "You came."

"You asked me too," the boy replied, candidly.

"Indeed I did because I wanted to ask you….a favour."

Merlin's eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure what to think but the dragon's unusually tentative speech and nervous manner suggested to him that whatever was wrong and whatever this favour was, it didn't bode well for him.

"I thought you said the only favour you would ever ask of me was for your release," Merlin said, carefully.

The Great Dragon raised a wrinkled eyebrow. "A favour which has yet to be carried out."

"I know," the young man waved him on, feeling guilty for having brought it up.

"That doesn't matter now. What does matter is the favour I ask of you at this moment in time. Now, Merlin, this is of utmost importance to me, I want you to understand that. I would not ask otherwise." He took a deep breath. "There is an egg, the last dragon egg left in existence, and it is meant to hatch soon."

The young warlock's face transformed into one of disbelief, there could be no way in which a dragon other than this one was still around. He knew what Gaius had told him, hell, he even knew what _this _dragon had informed him: Uther had wiped them all out at the time the purge. Therefore, surely, the Great Dragon had to be teasing him.

"No," he shook his head, uncertainly.

"I am telling the truth and it must hatch in time or else the youngster will die."

"But all the dragons are dead, killed by the king. There can't be another one, its impossible."

"Not impossible. Uther does not know much about dragons, he never took the time to understand." There was a note of bitterness in the Great Dragon's voice. "A dragon is hatched from an egg but the gestation period of that egg spans a hundred years. The King managed to murder all of the living dragons but this egg remains hidden. It is the last chance for my race to live on. Despite appearances, Merlin, I am growing older by the day. Soon I will be gone and dragons will be extinct."

"And what has this got to do with me?" Merlin asked with a horrible feeling that he knew the answer.

The Great Dragon rose up, his neck extending until it was about a metre from the manservant's head. It stared into his eyes with an intentness that made Merlin look away, uncomfortable. Then the creature opened its leathery lips and, displaying a full set of sharp white teeth, said:

"I need _you _to find the egg and bring it back here. Obviously, I cannot leave this dungeon and therefore this unborn dragon's survival falls to you. You must find it and bring it back here."

"Why can't you wait for it to hatch and come here?" Merlin asked, unconvinced.

"It won't hatch. It is frightened to," the beast stated, sincerely. His expression was sad. "Would you really want to be born into the world knowing there was no one like you out there – at all?"

"So, you want me to fetch an egg which will hatch into a dragon – a creature that Uther despises and will want dead as soon as he gets wind of it – for you, the Great Dragon, who tricked me into giving my own mother's life for Arthur's?"

"Exactly."

"Forgive me for being a _little _sceptical," Merlin said, sarcastically.

The great winged lizard looked at him, desperation oozing from every pore of his body. "Please, young warlock, you are my only hope. It is a child. Surely, you can't condemn an innocent to death?"

Merlin contemplated the dragon's words. He was right, the young man hated the thought of anything dying, he hadn't even been able to allow Mordred to perish even though he was foretold to kill Arthur. He was too soft by half, as his master was always telling him. However, if this was indeed the last dragon left in existence, the last free dragon and as it was magical then surely he should save it?

He sighed, defeated. "Where exactly is this egg?"

The dragon offered him a slight smile. "I have no idea."

"Oh," Merlin threw his hands up into the air, "Well, that's just great."

The dark haired boy groaned inwardly and knew that he would regret what he said next, probably for the rest of his life. Still, it had to be done.

"I'll do it."

"Good," the Great Dragon paused, as if listening to something. Merlin watched him, bemused. Then, he turned his intense stare on the manservant, looking a little worried. "I must inform you that it seems that King Uther too knows about the dragon egg."

"As if this could get any worse." The boy rolled his eyes before turning to leave.

"Merlin…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"I haven't done it yet."

With that, the lanky servant departed.

Hurrying down the corridor, aware that he was late for attending his master, Merlin tripped slightly on an uneven flagstone and was sent sprawling forward. He let out an oomph of surprise and pain as his head connected with something reasonably soft. There was a cry of shock from somewhere as he hit the floor, hard.

Dazedly, he looked up and saw Arthur standing there, nursing his stomach. There was an irritated expression on his face.

"Merlin! I should have known only a clumsy oaf like you could trip over your own feet whilst walking down an empty corridor."

"There was a….loose stone…." Merlin protested feebly but was ignored. Instead, Arthur offered him a casual hand which he took and hauled him to his feet. Once upright, the servant rubbed his head.

"Right, I was looking for you."

"When aren't you?"

"Shut up, Merlin, this is important. The King has just informed me of some very grave news. He has heard from an informant that there have been rumours of the discovery of a dragon egg."

"I know," Merlin said without thinking.

"What?" Arthur frowned, "How could you know?"

Merlin floundered before exclaiming, perhaps too quickly, "You told me!"

"I did not!" the prince denied it, immediately, "I only just found out myself."

"You did."

"I think I would know if I told you, Merlin. As much as you may think it, I'm not stupid."

"Well…" The manservant quickly changed the subject. "How do we know its true, if they're rumours?"

Arthur was still perplexed but he continued anyway. "These rumours have been circulating for awhile but Father paid no heed until he had solid evidence from a trusted friend. Now, he knows it must be true. However, he does not know where the egg is hidden so he wants me to ride out a find it."

"I'm guessing I'm coming with you?"

"Of course. What would I do without _you_, Merlin?"

**What do you think? I know not much happens in the first chapter but it will get better. I promise. A lot of Merlin/Arthur banter and guy-love (not the slash kind, the Scrubs kind :D) to come. **


	2. Initial Search

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for all the lovely reviews. I'm glad that a lot of my old readers are excited about a new story from me and I'm also very happy to have new guys jumping on board the wagon. **

**I hope you all enjoy.**

Two children were playing merrily in the morning sunshine, their skinny legs exposed and their feet bare and muddy. One of them had an old milk pail on his head that he seemed to be using as some kind of helmet whilst the other battered him, excitably, with a stick. To his credit, the practically blinded child was managing to parry some of the blows with his own broken broom handle. They were being watched by a couple of women, undoubtedly their mothers, who were hanging out their washing on lines slung between rundown houses. A tiny toddler with milky white skin and messy blond hair was staring at them with huge, awed eyes, his small fist tucked firmly in his sticky mouth.

The smell of recently lit fires hung in the crisp air, that and the smell of cooking bacon. Merlin sniffed and felt his salivary glands moisten as the delicious aroma assaulted his nostrils. What he wouldn't have given for a decent breakfast this morning; as it was, he'd had to skip the meal in order to get to Arthur's chambers for his chores. He supposed it was his fault for sleeping in late….but then again; it was the prince who had kept him up late last night cleaning the fireplace. Therefore, Merlin decided, internally, that the blame fell on him.

Ignoring the hungry grumble of his stomach, Merlin continued to observe the fighting peasants, one of which had no accumulated a wicker lid from his mother's laundry basket and was using it as a shield. He didn't understand a young boy's obsession with fighting and battles, as a youngster, he had never been interested in violence or anything like that. But then again, that's probably because he was _different_. In all honesty, he had no need of swords or shields, one flash of his eyes and he could fell his opponent.

In fact, he remembered one particular instance when he had been picked on by the village bully, Lester, and had managed to knock him flat despite being half his size. The idiot hadn't even understood how he had ended up on the ground with Merlin's small, booted foot on top of him. Probably still didn't know.

Smiling, amusedly, to himself, Merlin didn't have time to react when he felt his legs being swiped out from beneath him and he landed with an inelegant thump on the soft grass. Surprised, he swivelled round to see who his assailant was.

And who else could it be but Arthur? The blond prince offered him an amused smirk and then began untying his horse from where it was tethered.

"Come on, Merlin," he said, "You can't sit around all day. We have things to do, dragons to slay."

Merlin frowned, his dark eyebrows furrowing. "Ha, ha." He hauled himself to his feet and dusted himself down. "I'm taking it that you had no luck here then?"

"No, just some old fellow who thought he'd seen an egg and then realised that it was actually a goose egg which he had believed was a dragon egg and then forgotten that he'd realised until now."

"That's confusing," the manservant commented, dryly, pulling a goatskin flask from his saddlebag and taking a swig of fresh water.

"And a waste of time," Arthur sighed. "You ready? If we're quick we can get to Knor by noon and then see if there are any leads there."

"Why Knor?"

"Father suggested it," Arthur shrugged. "I just follow orders."

Merlin made a face. "You do just realise that you stole me line?"

"Don't be such an idiot."

"Takes one to know one."

The boy ducked to avoid the sharp cuff to the head which would indubitably come.

"To Knor!" he grinned.

* * *

Whilst Arthur was busy consulting yet another prospective source, Merlin lolled about on an upturned barrel, soaking up the rays of sunshine which would undoubtedly be some of the last he would see this year. With autumn ending – the russet leaves having already carpeted the ground – and winter setting in, there was a certain bite to the weather. Already, they were having the shortened, dreary days that one associated with the end of year months. Therefore, this sunshine was a welcome relief from that although it would soon be gone to be replaced with oppressive, black clouds.

Although the young man looked as though he was relaxing, really, his mind was in a churning turmoil of thoughts. He knew that he had promised the Great Dragon that he would find this baby dragon and bring it back to him but that was easier said than done. Sometimes, he really did bite off more than he could chew. The fact that his master was also searching for the egg was both a blessing and a curse because, although he would be able to use the royal resources and Arthur's considerable amount of contacts in order to find the lost offspring, he would also have to work out a way that he could save the dragon at the end of the quest. That was a hard one. How on earth was he meant to explain to Arthur that he couldn't destroy the egg like his father had ordered him to?

He supposed he would cross that bridge when it came to it. For now, he was happy enough tailing the prince around the British countryside.

Raised voices suddenly caught his attention from within the hut and Merlin turned a curious ear. Although still sitting, he bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to leap to Arthur's aid if he was needed.

"My good woman," Arthur's frankly terrified voice floated out of an open window, "I am not lying to you when I tell you that that is not what I came here for!"

There was a moment's quiet as the other person must have spoken.

"No! No! I'm quite sure I'm not playing hard to get! I think I had better leave now. No! I don't want _your_ eggs!" His voice had risen to a rarely heard hysterical pitch.

Merlin laughed out loud as the rickety wooden door burst open – almost being thrown off its hinges in the process – and Arthur practically threw himself out looking rather dishevelled and mortified. His shirt somehow seemed to have been torn down the front.

"_Don't _say a word, Merlin, we're leaving. Now."

With that, the prince grabbed his horse and mounted swiftly. Merlin followed at a more sedate pace but even he quickened when he turned round and saw the peasant woman with smoky eyes and red lips leaning out of her front door. She offered him a lewd grin and he fled with a terrified squeak.

* * *

"You know," Arthur groaned, as they entered yet another village, "I'm beginning to think that this is going to take longer than I thought."

"And how long did you think it would take?" Merlin asked, curiously.

The prince paused, looking a bit sheepish. "A few…."

"Weeks?"

"No."

"Days?"

"No. Hours."

"_Hours?_" Merlin repeated with mirth sparkling in his ocean-blue eyes. He didn't know his master could be so naïve.

He had known, as soon as they set out on this quest that they'd be in for the long haul. It wasn't just a case of searching a few villages and then finding the egg perfectly placed in the centre of one. If a mother dragon wanted to protect her young then she was not going to place it somewhere in the open, particularly if it was vulnerable for the next hundred years. Most likely, it would be hidden somewhere very special and distant and away from magic-fearers like Uther. If _he _was a mother – not that he ever would be! – then he would make sure that his baby – this was getting stranger by the second – was well protected, probably casting a few dragon enchantments on it too.

Yes, he knew this was definitely going to be a difficult pursuit.

"Its good to be optimistic," Arthur shrugged, half-heartedly.

"It's also good to have a bit of common sense."

"Pfft…it's not as if you can talk, _Mer_lin. You haven't a sensible bone in your body."

"Now you're beginning to sound like Gaius…" The raven headed boy smirked and then paused, looking thoughtful. "And, come to think of it, my mother."

"Oh dear god," Arthur cried, slapping his forehead, incredulously.

The slap morphed into a massage as he tried to ease the headache that was forming. He hated letting down his father more than he hated Merlin teasing him and if he did not return with this egg then he knew that the King would be sorely disappointed.

However, so far, they'd visited at least eight different towns and villages and at each one they had search practically every house for information about this rumoured egg. A lot of people had heard of the rumour, surprisingly, but none of them knew where it originated. It was very frustrating.

"This house?"

Merlin gestured to the rundown little hovel that seemed as if it was about to sink into the ground at any moment. The stonework was uneven and large gaps must allow cold draughts and creepy crawlies in very easily – it was also sloping very significantly to one side. Thick, green ivy smothered the majority of the stones so there must be some insulation there but it made the place look even older and more untamed. Uncultivated grass and brambles grew outside the front; creating a tangled jungle in which the wildlife must find safe haven.

Although there was a chimney, there was also a great big hole in one side of the thatched roof where the hay had rotted away and had not been repaired. The smell of decay hung in the air like an unpleasant blanket.

"Do we have to?" Arthur moaned, staring at the disgusting place. He didn't want to be near the nasty hut, let alone step foot in its dim, dank interior. Still, judging by Merlin's raised eyebrows, he _would_ have to.

"We can always go home and tell _the king _that we found nothing." The very unsubtle emphasis still had the desired effect on the young prince and he took a deep breath before plunging in.

"You know," Merlin quipped from behind him, "It tends to be politer to knock."

"To be honest, Merlin, there isn't much to knock _on_," Arthur retorted, pushing on the flimsy door that was invested with woodworm. He was startled when it broke clean in half under the pressure; splinters and dust spraying all over the place. "Oops."

They walked into the tiny cottage and realised that it wasn't more than a single room. Dingy and cramped, the space was not a nice place to stand in let alone live what with the lack of windows, repulsive stench and lack of furniture anywhere. In one corner, there seemed to be some kind of rotting animal pelt which must have served as a bed at one point but couldn't have been used in years. Both boys covered their faces in an effort to shield the smell.

"I don't think anyone lives here," the manservant stated, simply.

"You don't say," Arthur said, sarcastically, "Come on; let's go before I am actually sick."

Tumbling back out into the fresh air of the outside, they both coughed and spluttered before helping themselves to gulps of water in order to clear their heads. Arthur was busy wiping imaginary grime and dirt from his tunic. Merlin watched him with an amused expression.

"You're not going to get a disease from just standing in a peasant's house, you know," he said, good-naturedly.

"That's what you think," Arthur replied, "That place was downright horrible. I wouldn't be surprised if someone died in there."

"Yes, they did."

The voice came out of nowhere and both young men jumped, startled, and Arthur immediately unsheathed his sword, the blade flashing in the weak sunlight. His muscles tightened; taut and ready to uncoil. After a moment's wild searching, his eyes fell upon a solitary figure that stood a little way away from them.

Arthur's first thought was that he was deformed. That much was obvious. He had a strange hump on his back that made him hunched and awkward looking. His legs were bowed and his face weird and bulging; his eye sockets standing out from his face like protuberant plums. Soft brown in colour, his irises were abnormally large and glassy.

Unconsciously, Arthur and Merlin took small steps back.

"Welcome to my home," he smiled in a rubbery, ugly way, "Or what was my home. I don't live there anymore."

"Thank god," Arthur whispered under his breath.

"And my wife died there, I'll have you know," he said with a kind of slow satisfaction that sent a shiver down both boys' spines. "Darling Detria…..but what are you doing here?" The sudden sharpness of his tone surprised them and neither was quite sure what to say.

"Er…."

"Um…."

"I'm Prince Arthur," Arthur finally managed, dumbly, before adding, to clarify, "Of Camelot."

"I know who Prince Arthur is. I'm not thick," the stranger grumbled, "You're King Uther's son. Nasty piece of work he is."

"You can't speak about the king like that!" Arthur admonished, immediately. His handsome face was creased into an unfriendly frown.

"I can and I will. No where near Camelot Castle are we? What you going to do? Kill a decrepit, crippled man? Then again, that's what your father would do."

"Who on earth are you? What gives you the right to have such a vulgar tongue?"

"Artemus of Molherd. I can say what I like, I've been through enough, travelled the continent and realised there are much worse things in the world than King Uther's wrath."

Merlin hovered in the middle. He wasn't sure whether to intervene. Arthur could be very hot-headed at times, especially when it came to matters of his father's pride but he doubted whether he would really come to blows with such a disfigured man. It would be wrong on so many levels. However, he had to admit that the stranger was goading for it.

"I've seen things you wouldn't even _imagine_, boy."

"Like what?" Arthur questioned, sceptically. His expression was still furious.

"Sea serpents as big as your dratted castle – the blot on our land it is – and men who can transform from human to beast when the moon is full. Potions that can win wars, bring loved ones back from the dead, that can change the views of even the most strong willed. Magical spells that would boggle the mind of your father until his brain was all but a grey, putty mess. You couldn't even fathom what I've seen."

"No," the prince replied, sourly, "I may not have but at least I don't live in a hovel and look like you."

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed, ashamed.

Artemus seemed nonplussed. "You shall be leaving now, I take it?"

"Not soon enough."

Arthur turned and grabbed his manservant's slender arm, roughly, dragging him towards their horses. He had had enough of this impertinent and downright ignorant man. How dare he lecture him and insult his father? It shouldn't be allowed but this far away from Camelot what was he meant to do about it?

So deep was he in his red haze of anger that he was surprised when Merlin wriggled free of his grip.

"Merlin!"

The boy ignored him. As usual.

"Have you ever seen a dragon's egg?" Merlin blurted out. His gaze trained on Artemus for any hint of a reaction. He was not disappointed.

"A dragon's egg, you say, young man? Is that what you came here to ask? I have heard the rumours, of course. I'm guessing that this fellow here, Uther's unfortunate offspring, wants to find it and destroy it?"

"Yes," Arthur said.

"No!" Merlin denied at exactly the same time. He shot a look at his master. "No, we want to find it because Uther wishes to reintroduce dragons back into Camelot. He believes they could be some use on our side in the battle against sorcery."

Arthur stared at his servant, impressed. He didn't know Merlin could adlib so well. In fact, wasn't the boy notoriously bad at lying? His father had told him as much.

Artemus offered Merlin a somewhat amused smile. "You have a good heart, I can tell. And, although I know you are being dishonest, I will tell you because I know that it will please your master and also, I know that you will never get there." He paused. "The only dragon egg I have ever seen was in Italy, near the great city of Rome."

"You've _got _to be kidding me," Arthur murmured.

**Aha! Yay! Please review!**


	3. King's Quest

**Author's Note - Thank you very, very much for all the lovely, lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Its mainly a filler but should be good fun. They are starting on their epic quest in the next chapter. I promise. **

**Last night's Merlin was wonderful - although I was very annoyed that they had Merlin out of danger pretty sharpish, he never seems in mortal peril anymore :( I like Merlin bashing! - but Colin Morgan's acting was sublime. Made me so upset when he walked back into the destroyed chambers and looked at the broken test tubes. **

**The Merlin cast are turning on the Christmas lights in Cardiff and I really, really want to go as my sister goes to Uni there and she's going! **

It was late evening by the time the prince and his manservant returned to the castle. There, they were met by a cohort of servants who unloaded the horses and took them off for a rub down and feeding. Arthur was offered a multitude of messages that had accumulated in his relatively short absence and was then whisked away in order to dine with the King for supper.

Merlin was left in the middle of the courtyard: tired, aching and in need of some food himself. He hadn't eaten all day and his stomach was protesting fiercely. With a lack of energy that was uncharacteristic of him, the young man stumbled, exhausted, back to the physician's chambers. He was aware it was past nightfall but hopefully Gaius would have some leftovers that he could eat.

Shoving the heavy wooden door open, lackadaisically, the manservant dragged his feet onto the rough floorboards of Gaius' chamber and observed the shambles that it was currently in. Such mess made his head ache and he pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to get rid of it. Unfortunately, that did not seem to help and so he continued to bumble his way across the cluttered room: tripping over chairs, knocking over test tubes with loose elbows, cracking his knee on the hard edge of a work bench (that had him hopping around in pain for quite some time). Eventually, he found the physician's general store cupboard and rummaged in there for some pain relief.

A wide yawn caught him and he closed his eyes, momentarily, feeling dead on his feet.

"Merlin, what _exactly _are you doing in my stores?"

The young man twirled inelegantly on the spot, whacking his nose on the door of the cupboard he'd left open and crying out in surprise. Rubbing the injured appendage, wearily, Merlin stared at Gaius. "You wouldn't…" he yawned again, "Happen to know if there is any food left over from supper, do you?"

"Well," Gaius raised an eyebrow, "I doubt it; the main meal was served hours ago but you could go to the kitchens and see anyway. You see to have a good rapport with the cooks, Bella and Lucinda."

Merlin smiled, dazedly. "They say I have a nice smile."

"Hmm…." The old physician looked unconvinced and carefully closed the cupboard so that his ward was no longer in danger of hurting himself. "Looks can be deceiving. What have you been doing all day anyway?"

Merlin blinked slowly, trying to keep himself awake and upright, before giving up and collapsing heavily in a chair. It creaked noisily and that just further exacerbated his headache. He made a face and brought a hand up to his temple, massaging it with his fingertips. Gaius noticed and intuitively reopened the door to the cupboard, fishing inside for a headache remedy before handing it to the raven haired man.

Once he had drunk the potion, Merlin scratched his head. "We were looking for that dragon egg, the one that was rumoured about. The King wants Arthur to get rid of it immediately because he fears that somehow it will rise against him. However, he had no idea where it was and neither did Arthur so we searched all the towns, villages and cities in the surrounding valleys. _Not a sausage_," he said the last part with some vehemence and then frowned. "Actually, having said that, there was this man, Artemus, who claimed there was one in Italy, near Rome. I barely know where that is! I remember Mother once mentioning we had a relative from there…"

"Ambrosius, yes," Gaius nodded, sagely, but did not elaborate.

"Anyway, so Arthur reckons that Uther won't bother sending us all the way out there because it would be a waste of time. He's gone to speak with him now."

"Let's hope you're right."

* * *

"Father!" Arthur's tone was incredulous. "You cannot be serious?"

"I am always serious, Arthur."

"But this is _Rome_, Father! Have _you _even been to _Rome_?"

"As a matter of fact, I have, yes. It is a wonderful place."

"But its miles away!"

"Arthur, I don't like the tone you have," Uther admonished with his face severe.

The two men, one blond and one grey, were standing in the great hall surrounded by rich tapestries depicting legendary battle scenes and banners emblazoned with the Pendragon crest. Its ceiling was high and vaulted and tall stone columns ran down either side of the room. The space was regal and imposing; much like the king who spent most of his time in it. Enormous candelabra hung down from the rafters, encrusted with years of hot wax that was inflicted upon them by the melting candles.

Arthur was in the centre of the room, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his expression disbelieving. His father was leaning on his throne, a black-gloved hand resting on the smooth mahogany. With the backdrop of scarlet and the crown still settled on his silver head, he was an immovable figure.

"I'm sorry, Father, but I don't think that we should go to all this trouble just for one single dragon egg." Arthur managed to calm himself, school his expression and demeanour into a worthy, level-headed aristocrat. He knew it irked his father when both their fiery tempers clashed.

Uther surveyed him with cold grey eyes. "That is the point, Arthur; there may be more than one egg. Who knows how many could be littered across Europe. At the moment, we know about just this one but there could be _thousands_!"

"The peasant fellow suggested they were pretty rare," Arthur commented but found himself ignored.

"And I want you to reach this egg and destroy the dragon fledgling before it has time to grow and spread its evil across the land. You have no idea how far and fast a dragon can travel, my son, it would be upon Camelot in minutes."

"I think you're probably exaggerating there a little, Father."

"That is not the point. The point is that I'm ordering you and a small selection of your knights to travel to Italy and obliterate this dragon. Do you understand?" Uther said the last three words slowly and serious, enunciating every syllable as if to drill it into Arthur's head. The prince felt like he was being dared to rebel. He wouldn't rise to the bait.

Bowing his head, Arthur said, "I understand, my lord. May I ask how many knights?"

"Camelot will need protecting whilst you're gone so I will keep Sir Leon in charge and you can take with you….six of your best knights."

"Six?" Arthur repeatedly, groaning inwardly.

"The rest are needed here, Arthur, you know that. Besides, you are more than capable of looking after yourself." As the king spoke, he left his throne and began to stride down the length of the hall towards the large oak doors at the end. Leather boots thunked on hollow wood.

Arthur nodded, mostly to himself, weighing up his options in his head. Suddenly, he asked, "Can I take Merlin with me?"

Uther's step barely faltered as his cloak billowed out behind him and he threw an offhand gesture over his shoulder. The younger man took this to be a yes and sighed, at least he wouldn't have to be doing all his own work and cooking if Merlin came along. Plus, his mind added mentally, he would have some company. Not that the knights weren't company, they were his friends and his equals – well, almost – but…he couldn't tease them mercilessly like he did his servant.

Stretching and sighing, the prince uncrossed his arms and headed in the same direction as his father but as he left the great hall, he turned left towards the physician's chambers; so he could deliver the good news to Merlin. After that, he would need to go and inform his knights that they would be leaving tomorrow. He had a lot of organising to do.

And with winter setting in, now was probably not the best time to undertake a perilous journey but what his father wanted, his father got. Who was he to argue with the King of Camelot? He'd proven enough times that the king barely ever valued his advice, even as his son. Glancing out of the window on his way down a draughty stone passageway, he caught sight of the moon and stopped short, staring at how large and glowing yellow the orb was. To see it so low in the sky was unusual and the colour striking; he wondered what it would signify for his quest.

As he gazed, enraptured, at the floating sphere in a sea of misty blackness, he did not hear the soft sound of footfalls beside him that signalled the arrival of Guinevere. She coughed, lightly, to get his attention.

"Sire," she began as he turned and looked at her, "I hear from Merlin that you may be undertaking some form of a quest? Not that its any of my business of course but Merlin said, well, I thought he said….and I was wondering….well…..I don't know what I was wondering but…." As usual Gwen stumbled over her words and her cheeks pinked slightly. She brushed a stray hair from her eyes.

"What you heard is right, Guinevere, my father has sent me on a journey with my knights to find the last dragon egg in existence. We must travel to Rome."

Gwen let out a small gasp of surprise. "Surely not?"

"It's true."

"But anything could happen to y...." she caught herself, "Any one of you. Don't tell me that you are taking Merlin with you also?" Her chestnut brown eyes were wide and worried.

"Unfortunately, for me and for him," he smiled, "Yes, he is coming too. In fact, I was off to tell him now. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him there to insult me and burn my socks whilst trying to dry them on an open fire." He chuckled, seeing Gwen's questioning expression.

"He's very proud of those socks," she replied, mildly. Arthur shot her a querying look in return but she just smiled, shook her head and turned to leave.

"Take care of yourselves. I want both of you to come back in one piece."

"We'll try but you know how it is," he smirked, "If Merlin gets too annoying....one slip of my sword and who knows." He shrugged.

"I'm serious," Gwen said, looked at him very carefully and then left.

Arthur watched her go for a moment and then shook himself from his stupor before marching off down the corridor. The torches burning in the metal brackets flickered in his wake.

* * *

He found Merlin a few minutes later, scoffing down a bowl of hot soup for his supper; Arthur recognised it as the leftovers of the meal he and his father had shared earlier. Somehow, Merlin always seemed to eat scraps and cast offs. The prince could have sworn that he never ate a full meal; he'd never once seen him finish his plate when they camped out together. Generally, he offered it to Arthur, who of course turning his nose up at it and threw it in the dirt for the dogs.

Perhaps, it was only in the seclusion of his own – well, Gaius' – chambers that he felt comfortable enough to eat. He wouldn't be able to do that on this trip though, otherwise he'd waste away. However, Arthur recalled how he hadn't eaten when they were in his own childhood home. When the prince had eaten that vile, gritty slop which Hunith had made, Merlin had had nothing. Maybe it was because of his mother's cooking that he didn't eat?

"Enjoying your food?" he asked, loudly, and Merlin jumped, spilling the spoonful of scalding liquid down his hand. He yelped.

"Thanks a lot, Arthur," he scowled, grabbing a bit of cloth and rubbing off the offending stuff. "Now, I've burnt my damn hand." He scrutinised the redness of his skin and then sighed. There wasn't much he could do about it, he supposed. "Any reason for your untimely drop in?"

"Well, Merlin," Arthur said with some build up, "We're going to Italy!"

"I was afraid you'd say that," the boy groaned. He dropped his spoon and pushed his bowl away from him. There he went again! Not finishing his food. Surreptitiously, Arthur sauntered over and pushed it back with his finger tips.

"No need to sound too enthusiastic," the blond man said, sarcastically.

"I can be enthusiastic," Merlin quipped and then raised a fist half-heartedly into the air before mockingly saying, "Yay." He smirked cheekily at his master. "See?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "We're leaving in the morning. You may want to start packing. And when I say packing, I mean packing my things first and _then_ your own. I have knights to see."

"Do I have to?" Merlin yawned, stretched like a cat and then promptly put his elbow down on the table, right in the bowl of soup which Arthur had carefully positioned. He cried out in surprised. Arthur sighed, despite his best endeavours, Merlin always managed to scupper all his most well-intentioned plans. "How did that get there?" the boy exclaimed, looking at his soggy elbow with disgust.

"I have no idea, Merlin."


	4. Setting Off

**Author's Note - Thanks for the reviews!**

**Just so you know, I did realise I would have to go on a boat to get to Italy, my geography isn't _that _bad! To Isis, sorry, I mapped the whole journey out across land (its meant to be longer). Sorry!**

The land was bathed in a soft light as the sun slowly crept out from behind the mountains like a child emerging from beneath its night covers. The gentle glow it cast spread gradually across dense green forestland, over frosted pastures and quiet, sleepy villages. So far, the world had yet to awaken. Harvest mice still remained huddled in the fluffy nests; the morning larks and pipits and swallows were yet to fly their roosts in order to serenade the earth; a woolly flock of white sheep remained grouped together in the middle of their field, a shepherd sleeping nearby; the peasants hadn't risen from their slumbers either, preferring to stay cocooned in the relative warmth of their scratchy blankets, settled on hay mattresses, with the smouldering ashes of last night's hearth still warming inside the wattle and daub houses.

Even the mule that always woke up early and annoyed the entire city with its grating braying was sleeping soundly, leaning against the rough post it was tethered to.

In fact, the only living creatures awake were eight men. Seven of them wide awake and raring to go, the eighth, still dazed, his eyes crusted with sleep and his movements slow and sluggish. He hadn't even had time to run a comb through his hair so his pitch-dark locks stuck up at rakish angles.

Yawning, his jaw clicking with the effort, he shrugged on his beaten brown jacket and stumbled over the courtyard cobbles towards the stables. The building was old and set into the wall of the castle; the smell of fresh hay mixed with the tang of sweaty horses emanated from the very pores of the stonework.

Outside the stables, several horses were tied to a wooden bar; their heads hung low against the morning chill and their long tails swishing. One of them lowered its muzzle to an icy trough of water and lapped gingerly at the clear liquid, its velvety lips quivering from the cold.

Beside one of the horses stood a blond haired man, his sharp blue eyes picking out his bedraggled manservant immediately.

"_Mer_lin! I wondered when you would grace us with your _magnificent _presence," Arthur stated, sarcastically, rubbing the broad nose of his horse.

In all honesty, Merlin didn't particularly care what Arthur thought of his tardiness, nor the array of muscular looking knights that shot him disdainful glances, because he had been up _all _bloody night preparing for today. He'd had to collect an assortment of items from all about the castle in order to complete the list which the prince had set him. It was like a domesticated treasure hunt – a boring one at that. The clothes had been the easy part; he'd grabbed a range from summer wear to winter wear as they didn't really know how long this trip would take. He'd focussed mainly on the thick undergarments and sheepskin coats as he had no idea how cold it could get in Italy. A few things he had to wake a set of disgruntled seamstresses in order to get them mended in time. That _hadn't _been a pleasant experience.

However, once this was done, he'd then searched for hunting gear, sleeping gear, fishing gear, climbing gear….all kinds of gear! He swore he must have crossed the entire length of the castle at least ten times on his trips. By the time he'd finished, the sun was just about to make an appearance and his legs ached terribly – probably not the best way to start a long ride. Not that he'd had a choice.

So no, he didn't care in the _slightest _if Arthur was annoyed.

"I've got your bags," Merlin replied, coldly and began attaching them to the saddle straps.

"What? No good morning? No are you well, my lord? No sorry I didn't bring you breakfast?"

"No," Merlin said, blandly.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. Usually, his manservant was nothing less than chipper; in an annoying excitable puppy kind of way. Now, he looked positively morose, there was a slight frown wrinkling the pale skin of his forehead and his eyes had an unfamiliar hardness to them.

"Someone got out on the wrong side of bed this morning," he commented, dryly, hoping to get a rise from the younger man. He was not disappointed.

Merlin glanced up at him from where he was tightening the girth and glared at his master before muttering, "I didn't even _go _to bed, thanks to you."

"Should have done your jobs quicker then, shouldn't you?" Arthur shrugged. He had little sympathy; he _always _had little sympathy – for anyone.

Moving away from the horses, Arthur checked that his sword was safely sheathed and that he had everything else essential on his person. Then he paused and looked Merlin up and down. The manservant was dressed in his usual scruffy attire; he hadn't even changed into appropriate riding gear for this lengthy journey. There was a ridiculously small backpack hanging over his slim shoulders and it looked practically empty.

His expression creasing into a frown of concern, he asked, "Is that all you're taking, Merlin? You are aware that we will be gone for a great number of days? This isn't just a happy little jaunt into the countryside; we're going to _Italy_."

"As much as it may surprise you, sire, this is all I own."

"You can't be serious?" Arthur scoffed.

"I think you'll find I am."

Merlin was aware that the prince always forgot how badly off he actually was. He may be the prince's personal manservant but he was still a peasant on a small wage and therefore did not have the spare money to buy new clothes. His wardrobe consisted of two pairs of trousers and four shirts: two red and two blue. That's why it was always extremely annoying when he got thrown in the stocks. It took him days to get the tomato stains out.

He had all those clothes and some spare underwear in his old leather bag.

"Do you have a travelling cloak?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows still taking refuge in his hairline.

"Er…no?" Merlin replied.

"Oh gods, Merlin, you can't go _travelling_ without a travelling cloak."

"I have before. It's not like it physically inhibits you."

"Ealdor to Camelot hardly compares to Camelot to Italy. Trust me. You need a cloak. I have a spare in my room. Why don't you run and fetch it and then we can finally leave?" Arthur sighed, turning and making a face at his knights.

Merlin scowled but did as he was bid even though his legs were leaden and his head still murky with lack of sleep.

* * *

He returned a few minutes later to find the King standing beside his son, patting him on the back and nodding with a smile on his face. When he spotted Merlin, he spared him a single glance and an incline of the head before bidding Arthur farewell and wishing the knights luck. Then he strode away, climbing the steps into the castle and vanishing from sight.

Merlin briefly wondered whether Gaius would appear and say goodbye but he knew for a fact that the old man was still sound asleep, wrapped carefully – by his apprentice – in several blankets to keep out the winter chill. He hadn't the heart to wake him, he looked so at peace, so he'd merely tucked in the corners of the covers and left. Gaius would understand. Besides, he was never very good at goodbyes, no matter if they were permanent or not, he always stumbled over his words and stuff.

"You ready then?" Arthur asked, eyeing the thick forest green cloak that his manservant held in his snowy white hands. "Nice choice. That one was a gift from the Princess Rechetta of Polstonia: blonde hair, blue eyes but with the voice of a man." He shuddered at the memory.

"How very shallow of you, Arthur," Merlin responded, seriously, "For all you knew, she could have been brilliant in bed." His face broke into his trademark grin. Unfortunately, he could never stay mad at the prince for long. It wouldn't really do to start this ludicrously long journey on bad terms.

Arthur laughed and pulled his own scarlet cloak around his broad shoulders before climbing onto his horse. He brushed his fringe from his eyes and gestured for his knights to do the same. They mounted in swift unison. Merlin tried very hard not to be impressed. He really didn't like knights; they were so inhuman and generally clone-like. It was like they didn't have a personality of their own.

A damn sight less elegantly than the knights of Camelot, Merlin clambered onto his own steed – a gentle natured, reliable mare that Arthur had insisted the peasant boy always rode for fear he may injure either himself or someone else on a wilder animal. Despite the fact that Merlin had actually been riding farm nags since he was a small boy, he hadn't bothered pointing this out to the prince as he knew that Arthur wouldn't believe him or would just ignore him.

Feeling the animal's muscles ripple beneath his thighs as she readied to leave, Merlin held her still until Arthur nodded his head and they left the courtyard. As he trotted gently over the cobbles, he glanced up at the castle windows to see several faces staring down at him and the rest of the party. Obviously, the servants wondered if they would ever see their Crown Prince again. His eyes picked out two familiar faces, Morgana and Gwen, who smiled when they saw him – well, Gwen smiled, Morgana looked alarmingly worried to begin with but then she schooled her expression into one of graciousness. He grinned back and then they were gone, hidden by the smooth stonework of the castle.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

Progress was extremely fast and Merlin felt his muscles aching from the constant jolting and bumping across moors and marshland and scree-scattered valley bottoms. He couldn't slow down because he knew it would irritate the knights and probably Arthur too. Although he didn't really want to go on this stupid trip, he knew he had to for two major reasons. Firstly, because the dragon had asked him to find the egg and bring it back and secondly, because he couldn't leave Arthur alone to weather the dangers which Europe would undoubtedly bring. It was his destiny to protect him and he could not ignore it. Who knew how free the use of magic was in foreign countries?

Running a tired hand through his messy hair, the young man closed his eyes and imagined being back in his warm bed at Camelot. He was just imagining a warm chicken broth to go with that scene of bliss when he was rudely jolted from his daydreaming.

"Oi, you watch where you're going, boy," a sharp, commanding voice said and Merlin swivelled in his saddle to see one of the knights glaring at him. "Can't you keep your horse on a straight path or are you a complete cretin?"

The fellow had cropped dark hair and equally dark eyes which were set into a tanned, battle-marked face. His mouth was thin and mean and immediately Merlin took a disliking to him. Usually, the warlock wasn't one to judge by appearances but in this instance, he thought it justified. Especially, if that was the way he was going to address him.

"My name is Merlin," he replied, irritably, "And yes, I can. Perhaps, if you didn't ride so close then you wouldn't get annoyed?"

"And I'm Sir Morholt, what's your point?" The man frowned before shooting the manservant a disgusted look and moving off. Then he turned round in the saddle. "Oh, and in future, you had better address me as sir, servant."

"I have a name!" Merlin called after him, unperturbed. He wasn't about to let some jumped up knight bully him.

* * *

It took them two days to reach the east side of the country. As they cantered over the brow of a hill, the coastline came into sight and Merlin let out a heartfelt whoop of delight (which earned him several disparaging looks) kicking his mare into a gallop so that she charged down the dewy grassland towards the large town which was situated by the beach. Even from this distance, several large ships were docked, their masts standing tall and proud against the bright, harsh sunlight.

The sea itself sparkled like thousands of crystals had been spread across it and its darker colour contrasted starkly with the pale blue sky. Several seagulls were swooping and cawing about the shore: beaks yellow and hooked.

Arthur watched his manservant barrel down the slippery slope and wondered whether he would actually manage to stop at the end. It wouldn't be entirely unlikely for him to just hurtle straight on into the clear water. Fortunately, that didn't seem to be the case as Merlin came to a rather ungainly halt just before the houses began and turned back up to him, a happy smile lighting his face.

"Come on, sire, we've a boat to catch!"

"I haven't seen you this excited in awhile," Arthur shouted back. He urged his animal into a controlled gallop and thundered down towards his servant. His knights followed suit, like a pack of wolves following their leader, hoping for a kill that they could share in.

Merlin looked embarrassed for a moment. "Well, I've never been on a boat, if I'm being honest. It'll be a completely new experience."

"Right," Arthur grinned, "Just so long as you don't experience the delights of sea sickness as well then we'll be alright."

"Sea sickness?" Merlin paled.

"We're not on the boat yet, Merlin," he chuckled and slapped the skinny boy on the shoulder, amusedly. "Now, I think it was _The Gallant _that we're travelling on. Let me check."

Whilst Arthur wandered off to find a captain of some sort, Merlin was left alone with the six, so far mostly silent knights, and he felt awkward and uneasy – like one would when they were about to meet a sweetheart's parents for the first time. He chewed his lip, thoughtfully. Usually, he wasn't one to be stuck for things to say but somehow his reservoir of small talk had dried up. Looking hopefully at the knights, to see if they would speak and break the gloomy silence, Merlin saw that, unfortunately, Sir Morholt had his unkind eyes trained on him.

"So, servant…" he paused, "Or should we call you _slave_? That would be more apt."

"I'm not a slave," Merlin felt the need to point out, his expression perplexed. "Slavery is banned."

Sir Morholt shrugged; his face full of malicious intent. "Arthur treats you like his slave. What else are we meant to name you? Besides, when we get to Italy, slavery isn't banned there. What if I, perhaps, by accident, sold you to a trader? Then how on earth would we get you back?"

"Why are you being so nasty? You barely know me," Merlin asked, bewildered. People didn't tend to be horrible to him back at the castle because he had such a friendly disposition but this fellow seemed to be going out of his way to insult and demean him.

"Servants shouldn't come on trips like these," Sir Morholt spat, "Their presence isn't desired. Only knights should ride by the prince's side and protect him when he needs them most. You aren't worthy of his friendship, you should know that. Don't rise above your designated position if you know what's best for you."

"Are you threatening me, Morholt?" Merlin quirked a dark eyebrow, anger and pride swelling in his chest. "Because, trust me, it _won't _work."


	5. Ship's Belly

**Author's Note - Sorry for the length of time between updates. I'm just so busy with schoolwork and other things and I never get time. It seems Sundays are a good day for me though. I always manage a chapter on a Sunday. :)**

**Merlin was great, wasn't it? Bradley James was awesome and the fight was very well done! Poor Merlin having to change Arthur's opinion like that so it was against him :( He should have just said 'I'm a sorcerer!' when Arthur was talking about them all not being evil. **

The hull of the ship towered over the workers that milled around on the sturdy wooden dock, casting a dark shadow across them as they carried boxes of supplies; tied and retied knots in massively thick, coarse ropes with their calloused, chapped hands; sorted out boarding planks; checked for damages and did a variety of other jobs that sent them scurrying backwards and forth.

Passengers that were getting ready to board were lining up in an orderly queue whilst a grizzled old man took their money for the fare. The chink of silver coins was a continuous melody to be heard. Some people arrived with horses and they had to pass the animals off to a sea-faring stable lad who guided them onto the vessel with a firm hand and a calming voice. The beasts looked frightened to death of the gently keeling boat; their eyes rolled like white marbles in their skulls and their hooves jittered uncertainly up the gangplank.

Arthur began to lead the way towards the old man, holding his horse by its head collar so it didn't run away. His knights followed obediently. Merlin trailed at the back, staring at the undulating waves that he could see hitting the harbour wall and spraying a fine brine into the air. He didn't realise that they had stopped until he thudded into the rump of the horse in front and receive a moderate kick to his shin. It may not have been a full powered blow but it still hurt! He hissed in pain, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

"Eight men," Arthur informed the fellow at the gangplank, dropping a bagful of silver into his outstretched hand. Merlin knew for a fact that the young prince had an awful lot more of those stashed around his person, in his saddlebags and on his knights. He was well prepared for the long journey. "That should be enough, shouldn't it?"

"Plen'y, sire," the seaman nodded, baring his crooked yellow teeth in a lurid smile. "And that is eight n-o-blemen, issit?"

"Well, no, Merlin's a servant but I'll pay the same for him anyway, even though he's worthless." The raven haired boy heard the insult but decided not to rise to the bait; instead, he watched a shoal of silvery-green minnow dash to and fro in the water.

"Unfortuna'ly, sire, our policy is tha' the servants pass the journey on the bo'om deck whils' them nobles and royal'y, such as yourself," he said, gesturing to Arthur's visible crest, "occupy the upper decks. Tradition you could call it."

"What age do we live in?" the blond haired prince frowned, perplexed, "This isn't a time of slavery and maltreatment. Surely, my _personal _manservant can remain with me?"

"As I said, m'lord, no disrespec' intended, but it's against the cap'n's rules. Could scare the ladies, see, unkempt servants and all. And we don't wanna upse' their delicate disp-o-sitions does we?"

Arthur's mouth was set in a hard line as he glanced back at his serving boy to see that he was tentatively dipping a toe in the sea and wasn't even _listening _to the problem they were having. He didn't know what to do. It didn't seem fair to condemn Merlin to a life at the bottom of the ship but if those were the rules then he guessed he would have to adhere to them. Everyone else was, after all. Now, he noticed several nobles walking along with their servants and sending them away down to the lower decks. Really, he shouldn't treat Merlin any differently.

"Come on, my lord, we need to board the ship. Just agree to what he says. Your servant can look after himself, I'm sure." It was Sir Morholt who had spoken and he was staring at Arthur with encouraging eyes. The prince supposed he was right. It was only a couple of days and then they would arrive in France; Merlin would be fine until then, wouldn't he?

* * *

Merlin couldn't quite believe that Arthur had done this to him. He felt like he was in the bowels of a pig; a very sick pig at that. The stench was almost unbearable; it made his eyes water uncontrollably. It was a foul mixture: the reek of unwashed, sweaty bodies; the tang of acidic sick – no doubt the result of the unfamiliar sway of the ship; and the nasty, nauseating odour of stale urine and ripe animal dung. A potent combination. Perhaps, the reason for the faecal smells was down to the fact they were sharing their hellish quarters with the horses, goats and sheep which were also making the journey across the channel. The animals occasionally snorted or whinnied or mewled but mainly remained quiet and anxious.

They weren't the only living creatures present as rats that Merlin could have sworn were the size of small dogs were scurrying and skittering around in the darkness. He could hear their claws scratching on the woodwork.

If the smells and the sounds weren't bad enough, the fact they were in pitch blackness didn't help. The boy had had to resort to using his magic in order to create a small ball of flame in his hand with which to observe his surroundings and provide him little comfort. It wasn't as if he needed the heat from it, the space was already stiflingly hot and weighed on his lungs like a thick tar; suffocating.

Attempting to get some sleep as his stomach roiled and his ears picked up the minutest of sounds, Merlin cursed his master once more and scowled as he tucked his chin onto his chest and closed his eyes. He longed for the journey to be over.

* * *

Arthur felt bad. Not particularly because the tossing of the ship was irritating his stomach (though that was part of the problem) but because of what he had done to Merlin. The raven headed boy had looked so stunned when he'd shoved him, perhaps a little too forcefully, down the ladder into the hull of the vessel and informed him that he would have to spend the journey down there. He especially felt guilty because Merlin had already told him how excited he was about travelling on a boat and seeing the open sea. Now, he would see nothing other than the slime and the grime that had accumulated in the deck just above the bilge.

It couldn't be _that _terrible, though, could it? His own quarters were hardly luxurious with a simple bunk attached to the wall and a small basin in which to wash in. This wasn't the type of ship which accommodated royals, he knew that, but his father's own ship - they only owned one because Camelot was not on the coast - was already on a nautical tour of Ireland. Therefore, he had to make do with this passenger vessel.

As he lay on the uncomfortable cot and immersed himself in his thoughts, the young prince had time to contemplate the trip ahead. There was no doubt that it would be a hard one; they had hundreds of miles to cover and it would probably take them several months, even seasons. He wouldn't be surprised if it was next winter by the time they returned home; who knew how long it would take them to find the egg when they actually reached Italy. It was a big place, after all, even if they knew the baby dragon was somewhere near the capital.

Before he had set out on this quest, despite the fact that Merlin believe he never thought or planned anything or even had an operational brain cell to his name, he had actually dragged out a dusty old map and carefully drawn the route they would take. He had been reluctant to spend any more time than was necessary on the ship as he didn't particularly like travelling that way, so the journey spanned over France and then into Italy. Obviously, they would have to pass over the mountain range that fell between the two countries but hopefully it wouldn't be too difficult; the map suggested they were nothing more than hills.

Everything else was unknown to Arthur. Never before had he set foot outside of the comfort of his home country and so he knew he had a lot to learn.

There was a knock on the door.

Arthur sat up on his bed and received an unpleasant head rush for his troubles. "Come in," he called, running a hand through his hair and staring at his knees until the dizzying sensation subsided.

The door swung open to reveal Sir Morholt standing there. He had a pleasant smile on his dark features and Arthur found himself smiling back. Gesturing with his palm, he beckoned the man into the room so he wasn't hanging around in the dingy corridor.

"My lord," the knight said, bowing deeply. Fleetingly, Arthur's mind wandered to his manservant and how the boy barely ever even ducked his head anymore. That was the problem with Merlin, he had _no _respect. "I have come to query as to whether you would like to accompany myself and the other knights to the dining galley for supper?"

"Of course," Arthur replied, swinging his legs off the bunk and slipping them into his boots. The only problem with having Merlin confined to the belly of the ship was that he had nobody to help him dress or have things ready for him. "I'm starving, though I'm not expecting much."

Morholt grinned. "Well, it will be infinitely better than that mush that Merlin has been serving up for the last few days. I think I found an eyeball in the last stew."

"An eyeball?!" Arthur let out a bark of a laugh and clapped his friend on the back. "And there was me thinking they were just pickled onions!" He paused and shook his head, wrinkling his nose. "I _really _hope that's not true."

"Me too," Morholt sniggered.

* * *

Merlin could feel someone watching him and he felt uneasy. He didn't know where the person was but they could be anywhere in the dark recesses of the ship's cavernous bottom and they were staring at him. Strange spidery sensations crawled up his spine and made him shiver involuntarily whilst the hairs on his neck stood up as if sensing oncoming danger. Blue eyes searched the dim space but it strained him to make out any outlines. He couldn't tell what was a horse's bottom and what was a stack of crates.

Running a careless hand through his hair, he was suddenly aware of someone immediately next to him and he turned his head, jumping when a pair of fearsome black eyes met him own. They were so huge and menacing that his heart leapt into his throat and he scrambled backward, up the curved wall he was leaning on. A frightened gurgle was loosed from his throat.

"_Tell _me, young man, where did you get that fire?" the eyes hissed.

"I….I….!"

"Conjured it?" the eyes creased, slyly.

"No! Definitely not! You're wrong!" Merlin garbled.

"It was not an accusation." The faceless eyes seemed to mock him and the warlock desperately wanted to get away; his blood pulsed fiercely through his veins and his muscles felt tense and wary. "Merely a suggestion."

"Can you go away?" the boy mumbled, hopefully.

"Not until you tell me where the fire is from. How exactly does it sit in your hand in such a way that it does not _burn_ _you_?"

With the last two words, a gnarled hand grabbed his wrist and squeezed tightly. Merlin gasped and the ball of flames was extinguished. Now he was plunged into blackness with this petrifying stranger. Bunching up his legs, the raven headed servant sprung lithely to his feet, ignoring the clawed hands that grasped at him and ran in the direction of the ladder. He didn't care that they were not allowed out until the journey ended. He would leave anyway in order to get away from this horrific place.

Grabbing blindly at the salt-encrusted rungs of the ladder, Merlin practically flew up them and knocked his head, hard, on the closed trapdoor at the top. Scrabbling with his fingers and receiving a smattering of splinters for his troubles, he found that it was locked. Not caring anymore whether he was seen, he instinctively performed the magic needed and the lock clicked loudly. With a strength borne of fear, he shoved the heavy door open and flung himself through, smacking it back down and locking it immediately once he was sitting on solid ground.

Looking around him, he realised that he was in an empty storage room that seemed to hold the food – in other words, a larder. His stomach suddenly growling with excitement, the boy hurried over to pilfer some bread from the side and a hunk of meat. He forwent the meat, however, when he saw it was tinged green and a collection of flies had gathered on the underside of it. Strangely, he hoped that this wasn't the kind of food they were serving Arthur because he would undoubtedly get ill from consuming it. He deserved it though, for what he'd put his servant through.

Munching on the bread, Merlin opened another door and peered through the crack he had created. The coast was clear. With enthusiasm mounting, the young man realised that he might actually get away with this escapade; if he just loitered around then perhaps no one would notice his escape. He could even make it to the top deck and see the sea properly. Even the thought of the fresh salty air and the bouncing waves cheered him. He just felt sorry for the rest of the poor servants stuck down in that hellhole. Still, he couldn't really do anything for them without drawing attention to himself. Instead, he headed for the surface of the ship.

As he ascended the staircase that would bring him onto the top deck, Merlin's nerves jangled. This was the place he was most likely to be caught. He'd had several close shaves before but this was where a lot of sailors were likely to be and they would immediately deduce, from the filth and scum that clung to him, that he was a serving boy. Perhaps, he should have snuck into one of the nobles' rooms and stolen some clothes. It was too late now, though.

Popping his head out of the hatch, he quickly surveyed his surroundings – there was no one about! Joy filled him and Merlin shot out of the confines of the boat and into the openness of the outside. He breathed in a lungful of clear air and smiled, gaily, to himself. He had got what he wanted, he was on a ship and he could see the sea.

Staring out at the undulating waves with frothy white peaks and seagulls dashing across them, the boy's grin grew wider. He leant over the rail and allowed the wet puffs of water to pepper his face like dew on morning grass. Soon, his eyebrows and lashes were coated in salty residue that sparkled like crystals and made him look as though he'd been sprinkled with icing sugar.

Tentatively, he licked the damp skin of his hand and found that it was even saltier than usual. So much so that it made his tongue tingle.

"I would ask what you're doing but I don't know whether I _really _want to know."

The amused voice made Merlin jump and he overbalanced, almost pitching over the rail in the process. Fortunately, a strong hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. He breathed a sigh of relief. It had to be Arthur, only he would know of Merlin's knack for getting into trouble and have the lightning quick reactions which could rectify the problem.

He turned; ready to throw a multitude of excuses and explanations at his master, only to find that it wasn't Arthur who stood in front of him…

It was one of his blasted knights!

Immediately, Merlin affected a contrite expression and scratched the back of his head, apprehensively. He knew that the only way to get along with these prats was to appear like the docile, subservient manservant that he was meant to be and grovel for their forgiveness – make them feel like they were something better than he was. Perhaps, to add to the effect, he shouldn't look the man in the eyes but stare at his feet instead. Look completely pitiful.

"Sir…." He had no idea what the fellow's name was. In fact, considering he'd only ever glanced at the knights a few times (they tended to appear as a uniformed blob to him) and barely looked at this one now, he didn't even recall what he looked like. Maybe, he _should _look up again or was that disrespectful?

Whilst in this dilemma, the knight spoke, "My name is Sir Segwarides." Merlin visibly blanched at the name; that was a mouthful.

Electing to look up, now he had been addressed, Merlin began, "I'm…."

"Merlin, Prince Arthur's manservant, I know."

"Oh…" The tips of Merlin's ears reddened. It was probably bad form that a knight should know his name and he had no idea of his. "Right."

"So, was there any particular reason that you almost killed yourself just then or is Arthur right and you are just as clumsy as he tells us?"

"Unfortunately, the latter," Merlin admitted. The knight didn't seem mad at him, he'd barely acknowledged the fact he wasn't in the servant's quarters even though he _knew _he was a servant. He even seemed to be quite friendly. "I was looking at the sea."

"And then you thought you'd go for a dip, right?" Segwarides asked, amusement lacing his tone.

"Yes, sir, I was feeling a bit hot," Merlin replied, playing along.

"Of course, when winter comes, it does tend to get a bit warm."

The man's eyes had crinkled into a warm smile and, when the manservant finally realised that he wasn't in trouble, he had time to look at him properly. He was tall and had a slender frame – not as thin as Merlin's but not bulky – and there was a certain muscular definition to his arms and legs that came from wielding a sword day in day out. He had a strong, angular jaw and protruding ears which stuck out much like Merlin's own. He had made no efforts to cover them up though, as his hair was short and grew upwards in tufts. It was the colour of honey, darker than Prince Arthur's but only by a bit.

"Sir, you aren't going to send me back down to the bottom deck, are you?" Merlin questioned, deciding it was probably best to make sure.

"No, why should I?" Segwarides shrugged, "It's not really my business if the guard on this ship can't keep the servants down below. Besides, it means I have company. The rest of the knights are down in the galley eating supper."

"Arth-I'm mean, the Prince too, sir?"

"Yes, I wasn't hungry though so I came up here and, by the way, you don't have to call me sir, Merlin. Call me Segwarides."

Merlin smiled, slightly, "No offence but Segwarides is a bit of a mouthful. I'll stick with sir, if that's all right." He paused. "Then again, I could call you Seg, if you don't mind."

"Seg?" The knight rolled the sound on his tongue. "Yes, all right."

Somehow, the young warlock knew that he'd formed a strong friendship there and then. There was something about Segwarides that made him different from the other knights, he had a personality and in some ways, he supposed, he reminded Merlin of Arthur. He seemed to have a decent sense of humour after all. He wondered what the other knights – Sir Morholt in particular – would make of this friendship.

As if he had read Merlin's thoughts, Seg frowned. "Merlin, one thing. You mustn't tell anyone about me talking to you…like this. It's not really proper. I understand that you and the prince talk in such a way but he is royalty and he can do what he wishes. However, the other knights, well….let me just say that Sir Morholt and Sir Lamorak….they haven't taken a liking to you."

"I noticed and I won't act out of order….which one's Sir Lamorak?" Merlin hadn't realised that he had more fans in the club of people who hated him.

"He's the one with long brown hair, the one that you'll always see wooing women. He thinks of himself as very handsome. In fact, he once said his looks rivalled the prince's." Sir Segwarides shook his head as if that was some kind of blasphemy. "Anyway, he's arrogant if you ask me."

"I thought all knights were arrogant? I thought it was in the job description: must have big muscles, be able to wield a pointy sword, be a noble's son, must suck up to Arthur and must be an arrogant prick."

"I'm glad you think of me in such a way, Merlin." Seg quirked an eyebrow.

Merlin flushed and backtracked. "Oh, not you….just them. By the way, I was wondering if you could tell me who everyone was. I mean, I tend to view you all as one big unit but I suppose it would be good for me to know who people are so I don't get on the wrong side of them like Morholt and Lamorak."

"All right," Seg said, "If you really want to know. There is Sir Peregrine; he is something of a clown."

"I didn't know knights could be funny," Merlin deadpanned.

"We are _human_, Merlin, as much as you may not think it. Besides, I said he was 'something of a clown' sometimes he can be a bit annoying. Anyway, he's the red-headed one. Then there is Sir Tristram, he's the very, very young one. I don't really know why Arthur brought him along as he's so inexperienced but anyway….he idolises Arthur."

"I thought that was another attribute on the job description," Merlin quipped.

Segwarides looked seriously at the manservant. "You learn eventually that Arthur has his flaws, just like everyone. It comes with experience and the most experienced out of us is Sir Erec, he's nearing thirty. He has a little daughter at home and a wife. He didn't really want to come but Uther wanted Arthur to take someone reliable."

"Right…" Merlin paused for a second, focussing on something over Segwarides shoulder. "I'm guessing that's him coming towards us now looking slightly angry. Oh….and here come the rest. Great."


	6. Disembarking

**Author's Note - This chapter has been corrected because of the appalling French. Thank you to everyone for pointing that out. Especially thanks to Cristalelle for giving me the translations.**

Merlin immediately searched for his master within the group of heads but unfortunately he did not seem to be present. He always did pick the best times to be absent. Without Arthur, he was completely at the mercy of the knights and whatever they wished to do to him. They could throw him overboard if they wanted and put it down to an accident or a punishment for venturing above deck. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. Besides, he had Segwarides who had already half offered a hand of friendship and wouldn't allow him to be hurt, would he?

Suddenly, the young man wasn't quite so sure of himself as he glanced over at Segwarides and saw that he was attempting not to make eye contact with him at all. That was usually a bad sign. It was the expression that the peasants had perfected over the years, one of blank indifference. He had seen it used many a time when villagers turned a blind eye to a man beating his wife or children bullying children. They didn't like to get involved.

He had thought that Segwarides was a brave man but his reaction suggested differently. Sighing, the manservant braced himself for the unaided onslaught that he would undoubtedly have to face.

Sir Morholt reached him first, taking great pleasure out of grabbing hold of his jerkin and shoving him, hard, against the wooden gunnels so that the angular edge dug in between the vertebrae in his spine. He winced in pain.

"What do you think you're doing above deck, _slave_?" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth and hitting Merlin in the face.

Viciously, Merlin wiped the droplets away and glared back at the man. "I am _not _a slave!"

"You are to me," Morholt hissed, just as the rest of the group were upon them. There was a dangerous sharpness to his dark eyes.

"Morholt, unhand the boy," Sir Erec ordered, immediately, seeing the precarious position in which Merlin was being held. It was unfair of the fully trained knight, who was both heavier and stronger than the peasant, to press his advantage in such a way. Although he knew that the prince's manservant was not meant to be out of the servants' quarters, he should still not be treated in such a rough manner.

Morholt scowled. "Why should I? He has committed a crime."

"A crime?" Merlin cried, indignantly, "My only crime was to escape that hellhole in which I had been unfairly placed. I should not have to sit in untold filth and share my quarters with the animals. I am a human being!"

"You are a slave, so start acting like one," Morholt replied and slapped Merlin across the face. The boy gasped with surprise and brought a hand up to his reddening cheek.

The rest of the knights stood around, unsure of what to do. Sir Erec was staring at Morholt with annoyance but even he didn't seem prepared to stop what was actually occurring. It seemed as if the darkest knight had some hold over them all which they could not or would not break.

Merlin's heart thudded loudly in his chest and he could feel the harsh wind whipping through his hair as Morholt pushed him perilously far over the rail of the ship. He could feel all his internal organs slip-sliding down inside him like potatoes in a sack. Was he about to die? No. He would use magic before this complete arsehole tossed him into the water. What use were his gifts if he couldn't use them to save his own life?

Gathering the pulsing magic which coursed through his veins, Merlin closed his eyes. And then let out a yelp of surprise as he was tugged abruptly and violently back onto the ship, landing with a heavy thud on the planks of the deck. His head smacked painfully on the gunnels so he let out a strangled yelp.

Being so disorientated, he barely noticed what was going on until he heard a familiar voice. "What on earth happened?" A warm concerned hand was placed on his shoulder.

Merlin opened his mouth and attempted to explain how Morholt had almost killed him but no words came out. Instead, he groaned, loudly. Why was the world spinning in such an annoying fashion? He felt like he'd eaten some of those wild mushrooms which Will had given him once for a bit of fun. They'd made the ground spin and caused him to end up in a tree pretending to be a squirrel. His head felt like it was filled with straw.

"My lord, Merlin had a small mishap." Sir Morholt's horribly slimy tones reached his ears. "You see, we came up in order to get some fresh air, as we told you and found Merlin up here with Sir Segwarides. It transpired that the boy was refusing to return to the lower decks where he was meant to be by the rules of the ship. We stepped in as well and there was a struggle and Merlin ended up almost falling over the edge, as you saw, but fortunately, I was quick enough to save him. Must be thanks to your training, sire."

_What?_ Merlin's brain screamed in protest but his lips would not cooperate. Why were none of the other knights denying these lies? Surely, they could not stand by and let such dishonesty be allowed? Sir Erec had been all against this beating of him and yet he said nothing now. Was it some code of the knights not to dob one another in? He scrabbled uselessly at Arthur's arm but the prince ignored him.

"It's a good thing you _were_ quick enough then. I thank you." Arthur's face appeared in front of him, swimming. "Gods, Merlin, you are such an idiot. Next time you don't want to do something, don't pick a fight with my knights or you'll get yourself killed. I understand that the servant quarters are probably not particularly nice but there's no need to resort to violence."

"S'na twue!" Merlin mumbled but the blond man was no longer listening. He was talking with his knights.

"Right, Merlin, the knights have agreed not to tell the boson as we are about to dock in France and there would little point in sending you back into that dump. You can remain here on deck instead. Sir Morholt will look after you whilst we go back down and gather our things. All right?"

"_Great_," Merlin replied, sarcastically. Finally, the earth had stopped swirling like the silt in a muddy lake and he could focus. Unfortunately, by this point Arthur had left and the rest of the knights had followed. He was left with Sir Morholt standing over him, a nasty smile gracing his lips.

* * *

They arrived in a small port on the coast of France just as the sun was climbing into the sky. Onboard, the sailors rushed around on the deck of the ship, sorting out riggings and the masts and the ropes with which they would tie the docked vessel to the harbour. Several of the passengers had ventured out in order to watch their arrival and were looking upon solid land with eager eyes; not many of them had particularly enjoyed the choppy voyage.

Down below, the staff of the ship were driving people from their rooms and some were already taking any objects which had been left behind for their own. In the makeshift stable, the horses were being prepared to disembark.

Arthur was standing on the top deck, waiting to feel the gentle bump as the starboard side of the vessel hit the stone pontoon on which they would lay the gangplank. He was not disappointed and soon the sailors were lowering the ramp and hurrying down it to start securing the boat safely. The young man gestured to his knights and they followed him down onto shore in order to wait for the horses to appear.

It was as he was growing impatient to get moving when he realised that Sir Morholt and Merlin were not among them. They must still be stuck on the boat, he presumed. Perhaps they were stranded among the crowds of people who were struggling to get off the vessel all at once. His blue eyes searched for dark heads among the throng, particularly his manservant's as he was taller than the knight. After a good few minutes, his gaze eventually sought out the pair and saw that they were scuffing down the plank – Morholt was virtually dragging Merlin along beside him by the scruff of the neck. He looked like a disobedient puppy being reprimanded by his master or a runaway child being held onto by its parent.

A confused frown creased Arthur's handsome features.

The frown morphed into a look of concern when he saw that Merlin was limping as he was hauled along. He wondered what had happened in the time he had been with Morholt. Surely, he wasn't clumsy enough to hurt himself again? Stepping toward the couple, Arthur placed his hands on his hips.

"What happened to you this time, Merlin?" he asked, exasperatedly.

The boy offered him an irritated expression but said nothing; instead, he elected to walk away from the group and stand alone, glowering at his boots. Arthur stared at him with raised eyebrows but when it seemed that the manservant would not give him an explanation, he looked to Morholt.

"Morholt?"

"Merlin was trodden on by a passing horse, it was an unfortunate incident. I told him not to be so careless in the future as horses are dangerous – and heavy – animals."

Arthur glanced over at the said man and saw his scowl deepen as he kicked the ground, hard. He was muttering intelligibly to himself but as much as he attempted to lip read, the prince could not make out what he was complaining about. Judging by his black expression, he was not happy.

"You should be more vigilant Merlin. We can't have you crippling yourself before we've even properly started."

Merlin was fuming. He couldn't understand how Arthur could be so oblivious to this blatant bullying. Hadn't he realised that every time Merlin was hurt Morholt was somewhere near by? It wasn't as if the manservant could cause all these injuries to himself without someone 'helping'. For example, this incident with the horse had occurred because Morholt had pushed him beneath the animal's hooves and as Merlin was hopping around in excruciating agony, he had threatened the warlock that if he complained then he would run him through. Despite the fact he had said he wouldn't be intimidated by the malicious knight, he couldn't help but feel there was some weight behind the warning.

And if Arthur wasn't even going to consider the fact that he was a tortured victim rather than an idiotic klutz then he wouldn't bother telling him about incidents in future. He would just have to grin and bear it; a motto he had followed all his life.

* * *

"So where to now?" Merlin asked, jovially, when they had finally gathered all their possessions and horses and were standing in a small cluster on the shore.

Arthur had been busily consulting his map and looked up at his manservant. "I don't know, Merlin, perhaps that's why I'm looking at a _map_!"

"Oh, yeah, right," Merlin grinned, sheepishly.

"Will you stop whistling, Merlin?!" Arthur said through clenched teeth.

"Oops, sorry."

"And _no_ you cannot look at the map!" the prince cried, exasperatedly and flapped the piece of parchment at the manservant as if he were an annoying fluttering bird. "Go stand over there."

Merlin affected a contrite expression and walked over to where he had been told. He waited patiently, fiddling with his neckerchief.

After awhile, the prince sighed. "I have no idea which way to go. This map is too old and everything looks different. We'll have to ask a local. They'll point us in the right direction."

The knights nodded in agreement and they trailed Arthur as he set off at a determined march to a market stall holder who was selling apples and plums on his stall. They looked rather brown and old, perhaps because they were out of season and had long since fallen from their trees. His eyes lit up when he saw such a large party approaching.

"Bonjour, messieurs! Vous voulez des pommes? Des prunes? Elles sont très bonnes, venez voir! Elles sont même excellentes!"

Arthur literally froze in the middle of the street, his face slack with something akin to fear. Merlin watched him with amusement; it was as if a great bombshell had suddenly dropped on his head. He looked, wildly, around him at his knights, looking for support.

"My lord." Merlin stepped forward, an innocent expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment and then took a deep, laboured breath. "I can't speak French."

Merlin could barely conceal the laughter that was battling to burst forth. Instead, he schooled his features into confusion. "But, sire, surely your father told you that, in France, the _French _people speak French?"

"Of course he didn't. He assumed I knew. I'm _supposed _to know how to speak the language."

"Supposed to?" The boy lifted an eyebrow.

"Yes, my tutor attempted to teach me until I was fluent but I always skipped those lessons in favour of sword practice. I mean, when was I ever going to go to France?" Arthur's eyes were narrowed and anxious.

"You mean like now?" Merlin asked, ironically. "Didn't you consider bringing a knight who spoke the native language?"

"No, but perhaps they do! They have the same upbringing as I." The young blond man turned, hopefully, to his knights. "Do you any of you know how to speak French?"

Every single one of them blushed and turned away muttering, making sure that they didn't make eye contact with the prince for fear of further embarrassment and retributions. Arthur stared at them all, incredulously. He had known his men were not academics; they favoured weapon work just like him but he would have thought that one of them would have paid the least bit attention in lessons. Unfortunately, it would seem not.

"Not one of you! No one here speaks French?" He threw his arms in the air in defeat.

"Well, actually…" Merlin raised a hand with a small smile on his face. "I do."

Arthur surveyed him for a moment. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a peasant."

"I happen to be well educated. Well, at least in languages. I learnt from traders in our village and my mother. She is of French descent. I seem to have a good ear for languages."

"Prove it," Arthur commanded, sceptically.

Merlin made a face at him and turned to the bewildered trader who had been watching the exchange with no understanding whatsoever. It was obvious he did not speak a word of English.

"Bonjour," Merlin smiled, "Je ne veux pas de fruit, désolé. En revanche, j'aimerais savoir dans quelle direction est l'Italie?"

Every single knight stared at the manservant in astonishment. Arthur actually felt his jaw drop. They listened to the Frenchman reply and then Merlin grinned charmingly and thanked him. He turned back to them with triumphant eyes.

"See, I told you. He told me that Italy lay in that direction." He gestured to their right. "And that we should continue in exactly in that course until we reached the mountains and Italy."

"Anything else?" Arthur queried.

"Yes, he said that you were an ignorant prat."

"He did not."

"All right, so I made that up."

**Just so you know, I won't be writing in French in the future. You will just have to imagine they are talking to Merlin in French and he back and no one else understands them. Thanks! PLEASE REVIEW! :(**


	7. Bandit Attack

**Author's note - Awww, you guuuys, thank you very much for all the reviews. They made me so happy! I'm glad you _are _enjoying it. That's music to a tired author's ears. **

**Can't wait until Merlin, though I was watching a preview clip of Merlin kissing Freya and I honestly felt like he'd cheated on me. _Heartbroken_. That's all I have to say :( **

Arthur was bathing in a babbling brook that cut a winding path through the undergrowth which carpeted the forest. It was a meagre water source but he did not know how often they would be able to clean themselves and he could never stand being grimy or sweaty for two long – it made him itch. Therefore, he made do with what he had; scrubbing fiercely at his lower arms and shins were most of the dirt gathered. He contemplated shaving but decided against it for now; he wanted to get out of the water as soon as possible because it was icy against his bare skin. Gooseflesh rippled on his limbs.

Breathing out between clenched teeth, he ran a trembling hand through his damp locks, rinsing the last of the soap root out and then, bracing himself, he dunked his whole head under the running water. With a gasp, he resurfaced.

"Having fun?" An amused tone sounded and Arthur whipped round. His manservant stood, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed.

"_Mer_lin! Why on earth are you watching me bathing?! You know that's just plain disturbing."

Merlin shrugged. "I came to tell you that Sir Peregrine said that Sir Erec said that Sir Morholt said that he had seen some tracks and thinks they belong to a small herd of roe deer. He suggested that you return swiftly so that you can hunt them."

"Why couldn't you just tell me about the last bit, first?" Arthur frowned and shook his head. Merlin was such an oddball. Only he would think it funny to explain events in such detail.

The boy shrugged again, rumpling his raven hair and making a face. "It wouldn't have been half as interesting. I'm fed up of being a messenger boy; now I just make up games in attempts to annoy you."

"I see, well I'm glad you put that grey stuff of yours to good use, Merlin."

"I do try."

Arthur chuckled to himself and pulled his trousers on. The fabric stuck to his damp skin and he ended up hopping around on one foot trying to get the garment up his leg. He let out a grunt of annoyance and gestured for his manservant to help him. Merlin took one look at his half naked master and shook his head.

"Nu-uh, no way, I'm not helping. You can dress yourself. I only help when you've got the majority of your clothes _on_."

With that, Merlin offered his struggling prince a wide grin and hurried from the clearing in which the brook snaked. He wondered how long it would take for the young man to actually escape from his predicament.

As it turned out, it wasn't a great length of time because, as Merlin sat down on a fallen log, Arthur appeared by the camp fire, shrugging a linen shirt over his broad shoulders. He had wry expression on his face and his cobalt eyes picked out the manservant's immediately. They shared a knowing look. This did not go unnoticed by the knights who were gathered round the flickering flames.

"Next time, Merlin, you find yourself in a spot of difficulty; I won't forget how you deserted me in my time of need," Arthur stated, cryptically.

"Pfft….if I ever get into such an embarrassing situation I don't think I'd want you to save me," Merlin smirked back. "I mean, how on earth would I live it _down_?"

"You think you're so funny," Arthur said, cuffing the boy over the head with something akin to affection.

Sir Morholt watched the exchange with repulsed eyes. He couldn't understand how the prince could be so accepting of cheek from a _servant_! If he ever experienced such lip from any of his manor household, they would be in for a severe whipping. Yet, Arthur just seemed to act as if it was allowed, as if it was right. It was against etiquette. Servants were below them - every knight knew that.

But the way Arthur and Merlin treated one another; it was as if they were friends. A friendship should not exist between a peasant and a prince.

"I am funny. You can't deny it," Merlin laughed.

"As funny as a goat with its head stuck in a wine barrel," Arthur retorted, smartly.

Merlin looked thoughtful. "You know, I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"You'll take _anything _as a compliment."

"Well I don't get many, so what do you expect? I live for the day that you finally compliment me for real; though I think I will keel over and die of shock."

"I live for that day too," he paused, "Mainly for the keeling over."

Affecting a wounded puppy look, Merlin dropped his shoulders and hung his head. Morholt glared daggers at him; despising every single damn inch of his lanky frame. He was an ignorant, idiotic, irritating buffoon and the knight wanted rid of him. The sooner he left the party the better and if Morholt had to be the one to cause that to happen then so be it. It wouldn't be as if he wasn't enjoying the task he'd set himself.

It was early morning and, now that washing and breakfast were finished with, the band from Camelot began to break camp: packing away their belongings, rolling up sleeping mats, putting out the fire and generally cleaning up the mess that eight men could make in a night – which was a lot. It wasn't hard to believe that almost all these men had never had to keep anything clean in their lives, unfortunately, it was down to Merlin, being the only servant present and the only one capable of tidying, to do the majority of the work.

He slaved away whilst the rest of the group discussed the tracks which Sir Morholt had discovered earlier. They were debating whether to veer off the main path which they were following to Italy and hunt the animals or to stay on course. If Merlin got a vote, which he didn't, and if they listened at all to what he said, which they wouldn't, then he would tell them not to bother and to continue on the safe path. Who knew what could be lurking in the shadows of the forest; any manner of things could maim, kill or cause them distress. It was a stupid risk. A risk that only foolhardy, hot-headed young men with energy to burn would take.

Merlin sometimes hated knights.

Gathering a bundle of Arthur's garments in his slender arms, he packed them into the leather saddle bags which hung down the horse's bay rump. The animal snorted and shifted slightly but did not protest. He was used to it by now, much like Merlin's own mare who was peacefully chomping away at a patch of nettles; her back already well laden with supplies. At her age, she was an old hand.

"Right, so Peregrine and Erec will ride up ahead and try and head the herd off. Morholt and Lamorak shall take the east, Segwarides and Tristram the west. Merlin and I will bring up the rear. Do you understand? If anything happens, use the signal."

The signal was always an object of fascination for Merlin whenever he heard it. Essentially, it was a warning call which sounded like a wolf howling. It always chilled him when he listened to the knights communicating but he had to admit it was a very effective method. That was, if there weren't any actual wolves about. Whenever he had attempted to copy them, he had failed miserably. It was terribly disheartening but Arthur always managed to cheer him up by declaring he sounded like a squalling pig on the chopping block.

"Sire, I'm sorry, sire, but considering that Merlin isn't renowned for his hunting prowess and that yours will be the most important direction to come upon the herd from, shouldn't someone more skilled take his place? He is only a servant and not a knight, after all."

"I can hunt!" Merlin exclaimed, indignantly.

Morholt shot him a nasty look before turning to look expectantly at Arthur. The prince scratched his head.

"I guess you're right, Morholt. I'm supposing that you want to nominate yourself as that 'skilled person'?" Arthur asked, somewhat ruefully. Merlin was outraged, his cheeks flaring an ugly pink.

"If you do not mind, my lord? Merlin may accompany Sir Lamorak to the east. That job should not be too trying for him."

"Very well." Arthur glanced at his manservant with an apologetic expression on his face. He smiled slightly. "At least you won't be able to get into trouble, Merlin. You'll barely be near the actual hunt."

Merlin schooled his own features. "Now, sire…" he smirked, "You know that's not true. I can find trouble where you least expect it."

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of. It seems to be a strange…._gift _of yours."

"I have many gifts."

"Well, you keep them well hidden then don't you?" Arthur replied, smartly. With that, he swiftly mounted his horse and squeezed his thighs, moving the animal into a quick trot. This then morphed into a canter and he was away; Morholt following not far behind.

* * *

If it didn't mean they had to stop at every puddle, stream and lake for Sir Lamorak to check his reflection then Merlin would find the knights ridiculous vanity extremely funny. As it was, he was thoroughly fed up of the stop starting that had persisted in their travels. He swore that if Lamorak pouted at himself one more bloody time in the mirror-like surface of a natural pond then he was going to push him in, head first.

Shaking his head in disgust at Lamorak's femininity, Merlin tried to scan the forestland for any indicators that the deer had been through here. He had never had a good eye for that kind of thing and soon drew up a blank. Everything looked the same to him. That bush….was a bush. That tree…..was a tree. That boulder…..he paused, what was a boulder doing in the middle of a lowland forest? In fact, why was that boulder moving?

His heart leapt into his mouth as he realised that the dark shape was not a rock but a man and he was moving in their direction. There was a dangerous looking curved sword in his strong hand. Even from this distance, Merlin could see the deadly look in his eyes. Wheeling round, churning up a great deal of leafy mulch beneath his heel as he did so, he grabbed at Lamorak – who was once again admiring the contours of his muscular arm – and shook him to get his attention. So far, he was yet to form words; they were stuck in his throat.

The best he managed was a hoarse: "Man!"

Sir Lamorak brushed him off irritably, as if he was a particularly annoying fly, and continued to flex his bicep. This was beyond belief! The manservant desperately wanted to run but he knew that the knight would be in danger; there would undoubtedly be more men like the approaching one and he wouldn't be able to hold his own against them (not if he was constantly obsessed with himself). As if to support his assumption, Merlin glanced round and saw several more dark outlines blotting the green scenery like smudges of ink on parchment.

"For crying out loud!" he yelped, "There are bandits! Bandits coming!"

He whacked the knight over his thick head and that finally caught the man's attention. He turned to face Merlin and punish him for such impertinence but then he spotted the approaching bandits with his hunter's eyes. Freezing for a moment, he seemed to come to his senses and then he grabbed the reins of his horse before leaping on and galloping off.

Unfortunately, Merlin's own animal was tied too far away for him to reach it in time and he knew for a fact that the knot would be damn difficult to untie as Sir Lamorak had seen fit to teach him how to do it 'securely'. Only an escapologist would be able to undo that tether. Instead, he trusted his feet to get him away and he took flight; his feet skimming across the loose leaf litter. They fluttered up in his wake.

* * *

Arthur was just closing in on the small deer; his cross bow angled perfectly so he would hit it in the side and kill it almost immediately. He was so near, in fact, that he could see the gentle rising and falling of its chest as it plucked delicately at the thistles which grew among the grass shoots. Its large ears were perked up in alertness but even its astute hearing had not picked out his impossibly light footfalls – he was like a ghost when he hunted; soundless. Long lashes lined its brown eyes and he knew that in a few seconds those bright orbs would be glassy and unseeing.

Adjusting his feet and placing his finger on the trigger, he was just about to fire when the earth shook and a massive horse thundered into the clearing, scattering the herd of deer and his specially picked doe. He cursed with annoyance; there was only one person who could interrupt a hunt in such a spectacular way. Merlin.

Readying himself to spout abuse at the manservant, he was surprised to see Sir Lamorak jump down from the horse's back. His eyes were wild.

"Lamorak? What on earth is the meaning of this?"

"Sire, we were accosted by bandits," he said, breathlessly, swiping a stray lock from his forehead, "I escaped but I don't know about your manservant. I'm not sure he had time to reach his horse."

Arthur's blood froze in his veins. It took him a moment to leap into action but when he did it was with a frenzied gusto. Forgetting completely about the hunt and the deer, he hurried over to his horse and swung onto its back. He did all this within a couple of seconds. Morholt and Lamorak watched him with stunned eyes. Surely, he was not going to go in the direction of bandits to save a servant? It was laughable. But no one was laughing.

"Which direction are they in?" Arthur barked, fiercely.

"My lord?" Lamorak asked, confused.

"Merlin and the bandits? Idiot."

"Oh, to the east, my lord, where you sent us, but…" However, he did not have time to finish his sentence because Arthur had already kicked his horse into a gallop. He vanished in a clattering of hooves.

* * *

Arthur slowed to a trot when he caught sight of Merlin's horse, a docile white mare that was still contentedly picking at dandelion sproutings. He stared at it for a moment and wondered what on earth had befallen his hapless manservant. Merlin couldn't protect himself to save his life – he was utterly useless when it came to weapons and defence, Arthur had proven that enough times. Yet here he was, dragged along on this trip, and facing a group of heavily armed bandits with nothing. He didn't stand a chance.

Wishing that he'd ignored Sir Morholt's direction when it came to pairing them off so that he would have been there to keep Merlin out of trouble; Arthur's blue eyes searched the messy woodland for any sign of where his servant had vanished to. Skilfully, he picked out several tracks on the ground; one that he guessed was Merlin's considering the length of the loping gait.

He guessed that was a good sign. The boy wasn't captured yet. Or dead. Hopefully.

Once more moving his steed into a gallop, the young man followed the trail, his eyes peeled for any indicator as to what had befallen his friend. It seemed that Merlin had been clever in his direction of movement – a concept Arthur would never have associated with the servant – as he crossed back on himself several times and went over a stream in an effort to cover his tracks. It was obvious; however, that he had not fooled the bandits. Their grouped footprints were menacingly steady.

Soon, it seemed as if they were returning to the main path. Merlin had held his own quite well. He didn't seem to have tired if he had kept going this long but there was only so long that a prey could continue to evade its pursuers. Perhaps, at this point, he was looking for help from the knights. Arthur felt guilty that he wasn't there to give it.

And then he reached the main road and found that Merlin's track vanished. Completely. It was as if he had reached a point and then disappeared. The earth was unblemished. The bandits seemed to have lost him too as they set off in a different direction completely. Arthur stood in the middle of the road, perplexed. Where on earth could the boy be?

Had he been injured, perhaps? Was he lying wounded somewhere? Was that why the bandits had really left? Or was he dead?

Surprisingly, Arthur found himself feeling physically sick at the thought. Then again, he wouldn't wish death upon anyone around him; it wasn't just because it was Merlin. Merlin was just a servant who happened to be his friend and an annoying one at that.

Scratching his head, Arthur looked again at his surroundings. If he was Merlin, a cowering, blithering idiot, where would he hide? The most obvious answer was behind a tree but somehow he doubted even that. Suddenly, he noticed that the ground sloped away on either side of the path, into a reasonably deep ditch. There was a lot of vegetation covering the dip but it was still evident, because Arthur was looking carefully, he supposed if he wasn't then it wasn't particularly visible.

Swiftly, he strode over to the ditch and peered down into it. His heart crashed against his ribs at what he saw: Merlin's cloak, the one he'd leant him, was lying in the bottom of the trench and seemed to be covering something. Was it a body, he wondered, once again feeling the bile rise in his stomach or perhaps, Merlin was grievously injured? All of the horrible possibilities passed through his head.

Expecting the worst, the prince called into the ditch, "Merlin? Merlin, are you there?"

There was no reply and Arthur panicked immediately. He readied himself to jump down into the hollow but halted just as he began the descent because the shape moved. Hope renewed, he waited with baited breath. "Merlin?"

A dishevelled dark head extended from beneath the forest green cloak – like a tortoise emerging from its shell – and the pale face of his manservant appeared, cerulean blue eyes staring up at him with surprise. "Arthur?"

"You know, I really could kill you right now, Merlin."

"Why?" the boy queried, confused.

"Because I was….." Arthur halted, rethinking his words, "Doesn't matter; I'm just glad you're alright."

**Aw, he does care really. He just won't admit it. Give it time, Merlin. :) REVIEW! Please!**


	8. The Bridge

**Author's Note - Thank you very very much for the reviews! They were all so kind!**

**Aha, this chapter is like a cross between Harry Potter and the Three Billy Goats Gruff, just so ya know. You can think about how that will work…**

Merlin wished for the summer, for the long days that meant it was still light even when evening had set in hours ago. He wished for the continual warmth that would seep into your skin and even the sun's hot rays that would beat onto an upturned face or an exposed back with little mercy. Anything would be better than winter, where the sky was constantly grey and bleak, like some mourning father; the weather rotated between rain, sleet and snow of varying degrees; the wind ripped the air from your lungs with the merest of breaths and the chill constantly bit into bare flesh so that your cheeks were sore and chapped.

Really, they couldn't have picked a worse time to set out on their epic adventure across the continent. People tended to use the spring and summer months to do their journeys in but Uther had been adamant that they leave immediately. There was no time to let the seasons change in their favour.

And the worst thing was that the weather could only get fiercer and more unyielding. Winter had only just begun and already Merlin knew that they were going to struggle.

Breathing out, he saw the air swirl like smoke from a fire and he felt the pain of the bitter coldness in his lungs as he inhaled. Looking around him, he saw everyone else's breath caused the same effect as the warmth from inside their body hit the icy outside. Attempting to pull his cloak further around his skinny frame, the young man winced at the coldness and hardness of the leather reins in his hands. He should have worn gloves.

As the familiar sight of a small settlement rose out of the mist, Merlin smiled to himself. Hopefully, here they would be able to stop and stock up on supplies whilst having a quick drink in one of the taverns. It would be warm inside, with the hearths burning merrily away and the presence of other bodies. He could just imagine it now.

He glanced at Arthur and saw that his cheeks were also tinged a rosy pink. Obviously, even the prince could feel the cold despite the many layers he seemed to have on. His fingers were clenched tightly around the reins, the knuckles looking as if they would pop out at any moment. Beneath him, his horse tossed its head and snorted. Somehow, Merlin could tell that it shared exactly the same excitement as the rest of them at the prospect of somewhere warm to stay.

"Right, men," Arthur began, his voice never belying his chilliness, "We'll be stopping here for an hour or two. Once we have collected some supplies, I give you permission to stop by in the local inn and warm yourself by the fire, should you so wish. We will be leaving at noon on the dot, though. Do you understand?"

There was a unified reply of: "Yes, sire."

Quickly, the prince handed out a variety of tasks and then allowed the young men to leave. Eventually, it was just him and Merlin left. He busied himself handing the horses over to a village stable-owner who accepted the money from the travellers gratefully and then turned to his manservant.

"So, Merlin, since when did you decided to swap your nose for a berry?" he smirked.

Immediately, the manservant's hand sprung to his nose and he frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Its _bright _red, Merlin."

"Yes, well, so are your cheeks. It looks like you're wearing the Lady Morgana's rouge."

It was Arthur's turn for his fingers to jump, self-consciously, to his face and to feel the icy skin beneath his finger tips. "Perhaps, we should both go inside before we catch our deaths."

"But don't we have to collect supplies?" Merlin queried, shifting the empty pack on his back.

"First," Arthur replied, "I need some mead."

"The tavern?"

"Excellent idea."

* * *

Arthur had been right. Having mead really was a good idea; it was sweet and warm and filled his belly with a pleasant heat. Initially, he hadn't been going to have any but Arthur had offered and he wasn't exactly going to refuse a free drink so he received the beverage, gladly. The alcohol also made the trip seem a lot less daunting as well as he was swamped in a happy feeling.

The inn was small – no doubt because it was only for the few travellers that passed by – but cosy and reasonably busy. People were probably doing as they were and seeking warmth from the harsh weather. It was sort of smoky inside, thanks to several pipes which had been lit, and the air was filled with the honeyed smell of mead and food. Across from their table, sat four men having a game of dice – the clattering of the wooden cubes on the hard surface was a somehow rhythmic sound. A couple more benches were crowded by a group of old fellows who were laughing heartily and enjoying a cooked meal. A rich aroma reached Merlin's nostrils and he inhaled deeply, feeling his taste buds tingle.

Unfortunately, they weren't here to eat, just to have a quick drink and then move on. He knew that their lunch would consist of whatever salted meats, hard biscuits and pickled _things _they could get their hands on at the local market. Still, it wouldn't hurt to imagine sinking his teeth into one of those freshly baked rolls or that delicious stew…

A sharp cuff to the head brought him out of his daydreaming. "Hey!"

"Stop drooling on the table, Merlin, we need to go." Arthur's keen blue eyes were surveying the room as he stood. He couldn't help but always be alert; it was a hunter's instinct. "Our job was to fetch the food and considering you're the only one who can speak fluent French, I need you to come, now."

"All right, all right," Merlin grumbled and clambered to his feet. He had been so comfortable and now they had to go back into the bone-chilling outdoors. He shivered at the thought.

Stepping through the door, he was not disappointed, as the wind immediately buffeted him, knocking the breath out of his body. He gasped in surprise. Arthur seemed nonplussed, however, as he strode towards the marketplace. Merlin followed, feeling the wind tear at his hair and make his eyes water, painfully.

"Right, Merlin, here we go. I want you to get some of that and that and that and that…"

As Arthur moved around the stalls, he pointed out exactly what he wanted whilst Merlin talked to the holder, struck up a deal and handed over the coins. He felt like a performing animal; struggling to keep up with all that his master wanted. The French spewed from his mouth in a messy torrent – it was at times like these that he regretted speaking up about his skills.

"Finally, Merlin, can you get some of that bread, we'll have that now so it doesn't go stale." Merlin's eyes lit up when he saw the crusty, brown, stone-baked loaf. He felt his mouth water with excitement.

Turning to the baker, he asked, "Can I have some of that bread, please? How much is it?"

"Five silver coins for the whole thing, Englishman," the man replied, smiling. Merlin wasn't surprised that he noticed he wasn't a native speaker. His French wasn't that good, after all.

"We'll take it."

"All of it?" The shopkeeper seemed surprised. "Have you a lot of mouths to feed?"

"Yes, eight to be exact."

"That is a lot," the man nodded. He gestured to Arthur who was standing a little way back, looking impatient, he was tapping his foot. "Is he one of them?"

"Yes," Merlin replied, "He's my master. But he can't speak French so I have to do all the talking."

The fellow laughed. "What power you must have!" he exclaimed, his smile widening when he saw Arthur looking suspiciously over at them.

"You could say that but I'm now just his personal translator," Merlin shrugged, taking the wrapped hunk of bread that he was being handed. "It's a bit tedious really."

"I can imagine. Where are you off to now?"

"Well, we're heading for Italy."

"Over the mountains?"

"Yes."

"Whoa, well I don't envy you. In winter that journey is perilously difficult."

"Hmm…" Merlin nodded but he wasn't really listening, he was distracted by Arthur who was practically glaring at him and gesturing for him to finish. He made a face as if to say nearly done and turned back to the French peasant. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. I wish you luck."

"Thanks, bye."

Merlin dropped the money in his hand and walked away, heading for where Arthur was.

"Have a nice chat did you, Merlin?"

"Yes, thanks," he answered, amused.

"What did you talk about?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Merlin said, casually and grinned. "Shall we go find the knights?"

"You weren't talking about me, were you, Merlin? Because if you were…"

"Arthur, the whole world doesn't revolve around you, as much as you may think it. I am capable of talking about other things."

* * *

They were once more on the icy path to Italy and for the most part they travelled in silence. Merlin supposed it was better than being insulted and ridiculed by Sir Morholt but he couldn't help but feel a little fed up after another hour passed and still no one had said a word. He was one of those people that found quiet awkward, not always, if he was alone it was fine, but if he was in the company of others then he didn't see any reason _not _to speak.

But who was there to talk to? All the knights hated him and Arthur was lost in a world of his own, his cobalt blue eyes glassy. He would just have to resign himself to being absolutely bored out of his mind.

Starting up a small whistle to himself, Merlin didn't notice another presence nearby him until they coughed, loudly. He jumped, startled, and glanced over to see Sir Segwarides riding along side him – his horse matched Merlin's stride by stride.

"Listen, Merlin, I wanted to say…I'm sorry, you know, about before. I didn't mean to…er…leave you in the lurch so to speak."

Sir Segwarides looked contrite, his forehead wrinkled in remorse but Merlin stared back at him, darkly. He didn't _tend _to hold grudges, but this knight – who was supposed to be brave and protect those weaker than himself – had blatantly left him to fend for himself and stood by and done nothing whilst he was almost thrown off a boat. His regard for knights had certainly decreased on this trip; they weren't all they were cracked up to be.

Seeing that he wasn't going to receive a reply, Segwarides tried again. "It's just…well….I was trying not to make a scene and Morholt is very strong and…."

"You didn't want to get hurt on behalf of a servant?" Merlin interjected, coolly. His intense eyes pierced the knight's brown ones.

"It's the knights' code to back one another up."

"Even when one of them is being a bullying pig?"

"I didn't support him."

"No, you just did nothing. I don't know which is worse: that you're a spineless coward or just plain old traitor. At least Morholt never pretended to be my friend before bullying me."

Segwarides looked crushed. Merlin felt bad, obviously, he was never one to take pleasure out of other people's misery and he didn't really like inflicting hurt upon them but what this knight had done upset him more than what Morholt had done to him. At least with Morholt he had always known where he stood but Seg had acted like a friend and an ally and then turned on him as soon as things got sticky. Surely, that wasn't the kind of knight that Arthur or Camelot wanted? One that had no opinions or beliefs and just backed into a non-committal corner when things got heated?

"Merlin, I said I'm sorry, I don't even need to, you know, I'm a knight and a lord after all. What are you, a servant? They'd all laugh at me if they knew I was apologising to you!" Seg said, anger rising within him. That was another thing knights seemed to share, their impetuous nature.

Merlin wouldn't rise to the anger, however, instead he replied calmly. "Arthur's a prince and he's apologised to me before without finding it _embarrassing _to say sorry to a servant. I am a human, not an inferior species."

With those words, the young man squeezed his mare's flank and moved off further up the travelling group. Segwarides stared after him, a mixture of annoyance and guilt curdling inside him. He really wanted to make up for what he'd done and he'd never been the best with words but Merlin made it so difficult. He'd thought that the servant would forgive him immediately; after all he was of a higher class than him and didn't need to seek his approval but obviously Merlin wasn't like an ordinary servant. He had a certain passion about him.

Still, Segwarides wouldn't give up. He now understood why Arthur viewed Merlin the way he did – he was unique, a rarity – and it made him want to befriend the young manservant even more. This time, he wouldn't allow Sir Morholt to get in his way. He wouldn't be the coward he knew he'd been all his life.

"Sire!" Merlin's voice travelled over the wind, "Sire, there's a wide river up ahead."

"Yes, Merlin, I can see that. There is also a bridge."

"Oh, yeah, I didn't see that."

The said bridge was about six feet in diameter and wide enough to fit a horse across in single file. It arched over the raging water below that swirled and rippled over hidden rocks and crevices. There was no way to cross the river without going over the bridge; the waterway was far too treacherous.

Arthur trotted up to the wooden structure without fear and urged his steed up the sloping path. The horse placed one hoofed foot on the slats and let out a frightened whinny. It didn't want to cross, that much was plain to see from its jittering hooves and rolling eyes. The prince sighed; obviously, it was scared of the torrent of water beneath. He would have to climb down and coax it across by hand. Leaping, fluidly, down, his boots clomping on the hollow wood, Arthur began to tug at the animal's reins.

It wouldn't budge.

"Come on, you stupid beast, move!"

The knights had gathered in a semi-circle around him and the animal. They watched with varying degrees of amusement. It wasn't often that one got to see the Prince of Camelot mismanaging his horse. He was usually completely in control. Merlin, especially, was enjoying the spectacle as he could remember the numerous times that he'd been scolded for not having control over his horse or even his own body; his limbs did tend to have a mind of their own.

"Sire." Merlin didn't even have to turn to face the speaker to know it was Sir Morholt. He always had something to say. "Perhaps, may I suggest that I go first and that way your horse can see that there is nothing to fear?"

Arthur looked at him for a moment, annoyance marring his handsome features but, seeing he would get nowhere with his own animal, he nodded. He had learnt, thanks to the unicorns that pride wasn't everything. If Sir Morholt could complete a task that he couldn't then so be it.

He watched with the rest of them as the cocky knight angled his horse and began to ascend one side of the bridge. His horse, being more subservient and less intelligent than Arthur's own animal, did not even sense or did not bother to react to the danger with emanated from ever aspect of the crossing until it was too late.

Sir Morholt was half way across when it happened. The most spine-chilling roar erupted from beneath the bridge and the knight's horse shrieked in terror as a huge creature leapt out from under the pass. It landed right in front of Morholt and his horse neighed, petrified, rearing onto its hind legs. The man on its back slipped backwards and landed with a clatter of armour on the ground. Spinning round, with only the thought of escape in its head, the horse practically trampled over Morholt in its haste to get off the bridge.

Around him, Merlin heard the familiar _shing _as the knights drew their swords in perfect harmony. He didn't care about that though; he was too focussed on the beast. It was massive, filling the whole bridge with its size. Now it stood still, he could see that it was a lion, well, its bottom half was a lion – tawny and rippling with sinew – whilst its head….that was of a woman. Beautiful flawless skin, full ruby lips and mahogany hair, the face looked absurdly out of place on the shoulders of a full grown mountain lion. A pair of large amber eyes surveyed them all with a cool indifference.

Looking up, Morholt took one look at this terrifying creature and turned tail, scrambling inelegantly down the slope on all fours like a cowering puppy. He landed in a heap on the grass. Arthur was by his side in an instant, pulling him backwards whilst still holding his sword up.

He knew sorcery when he saw it and he wasn't about to let his guard down.

Suddenly, stunning them all, the lion-woman let out an amused laugh, stretching in a feline manner. "Well, well, well," she purred, "What have we here?"

Arthur, to his credit, didn't even hesitate when he heard her speak; he just leapt forward and slashed at her with the sharp blade of his sword. She barley even moved, just casually batted him away with one large paw like a kitten would do with a ball of yarn. He flew backwards through the air at great speed and Merlin only had time to flash his eyes for a second to slow his flight before he hit the ground. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too badly hurt.

"Now, now, my good men, there is no need for swordplay here. Trust me, it will not work. I am not here to hurt you, merely present you with a task. You see, in order to cross this bridge then you must answer me three riddles. If you answer all three correctly then you may pass, if you do not, well, lets just say it will be dinner time for me." She smiled maliciously, a pink tongue licking her perfect lips.

Arthur had managed to climb up, with the help of Sir Peregrine and was glaring at her, coldly. "What are you?"

"I am a Sphinx, young man."

"You are borne of magic?"

"That is correct."

"I will not deal with a sorcerer," Arthur said, firmly. He had gathered his sword back into his gloved fist.

"I'm afraid that you will have to, if you wish to pass across this bridge."

"We will find another way!"

"There is no other way," she replied, smoothly, "Only the sound of mind can cross the river."

The prince let out a grunt of anger and stared at the Sphinx with wary blue eyes. He didn't trust her but he hadn't really got many other options. If he wanted to get to Italy then he would have to pass this test. There was no way that he and all his knights and the horses could swim across such a fast flowing river otherwise. He was stuck unless he answered the riddles. However, he had never been the academic type so he was apprehensive as to whether they would succeed or not. His success lay in physical fights, not puzzles and word games.

"All right," he sighed, "What are these riddles?"

The Sphinx smiled, she obviously knew he would cave and that irked him, but there was nothing he could do. "Wise choice, knight. I will give you all three riddles and you may answer them in any order you wish."

"Go on then!" Arthur said, somewhat viciously.

She arched an eyebrow but did not comment. "The first riddle goes as follows: There are two sisters: one gives birth to the other and she, in turn, gives birth to the first."

She paused.

"The second one is this: Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?"

Another pause.

"And the third: Too much for one, enough for two and nothing at all for three. What am I?"

Her cat-like eyes were alight with glee.

**Okay, so I know the middle one is one that everyone knows but its actually one said by the Sphinxes that guard the Greek city in a myth and is really old. I thought it fit. Review! And answer them if you want!**


	9. Answering Riddles

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for the reviews!**

**I'm quite proud of myself because no one got the answer to the last riddle! Yay! Which probably isn't surprising as I found it randomly on the internet; the answer fit well though :D Well done to everyone who got the first two correct.**

Arthur hadn't really considered the consequences of them not actually being able to answer the riddles but he did now as he had no idea what on earth any of them could be. His blood pulsed a little faster through his veins as he thought about how easily the Sphinx had knocked him off his feet. If she wanted to eat them then she certainly could. Why on earth had he agreed to this?

Worry mounting in his stomach, he looked around at his knights and hoped that those blank faces did not signal incomprehension, just….thinking – very _deep _thinking. However, he'd already discovered how ill-educated they were, much like him, could they really be expected to know the answers to the questions?

He flexed his fingers experimentally on his sword hilt, readying himself for the inevitable. He thought about his home and his father, even about Morgana. How long would it be before they realised that his absence actually meant he would never return? They would probably never know that he'd been eaten by a bloody great cat with the face of a woman.

"Sire! Sire!" The voice shocked him out of his thoughts and he looked over at Sir Tristram who stared back at him with excited blue eyes. His face was so young and unblemished, Arthur felt bad for bringing him along to his death.

"Yes, Tristram?"

"Sire, I have the answer for the first one. I studied Greek as a child, see, and those sisters, well; they don't actually mean sisters at all but day and night. The words for day and night in Greek are feminine and they birth into one another repeatedly. It fits." There was so much joy in his voice that Arthur took a second to comprehend what he was saying.

"Day and night…gives birth to one another…." he muttered to himself, fitting Tristram's answer to the riddle. It did make sense, in a way. Then again, what would he know? He was just a knight. "I think you could be correct, Tristram." He gave a strained smile.

Then he turned to the Sphinx and looked her straight in the eye. Hopefully, this would be right otherwise he didn't know what she would do to them.

"Sphinx, we think the answer to the first one is day and night."

"And you would be correct," the magical creature answered, sagely.

Tristram actually let out a strangled whoop of happiness and punched the air. He couldn't believe that he'd actually been clever enough to work that out. When he'd been cooped up in his stuffy study room with that boring slug of tutor, he would never have believed that his knowledge of Greek would _ever _help him in the future. If he'd told his former self that Prince Arthur would need his intelligence of the language then he certainly wouldn't have believed it. He wasn't completely useless after all, not like Sir Morholt always told him!

"Well done, Tristram!" Arthur grinned at the boy who glowed with pride. "Now, on to the next one."

Spurred on by the right answer to one of the riddles, the prince cast aside his pessimism and imagined that, perhaps, they could get out of this predicament alive. Maybe, his knights were more intelligent than he gave them credit for – especially young Tristram with his baby looks, blue eyes and white-blond hair. Who would have thought that he had a decent knowledge of Greek?

He even put his own mind to working out the second riddle; sifting through old things that he'd learnt and never thought were any use. He tried to work it out logically but he soon decided that logic was pointless when trying to figure out a riddle. You needed to think outside of the box. Be lateral thinking.

Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be? What on earth could that be construed to mean? Obviously, it was metaphorical but in what sense?

His mind reeled at the impossibilities of working this out and he desperately tried to come up with something - anything - that would give him an inkling of what the answer could be. Was it some magical being, one that he would never have even heard of or fathomed? That would be unfair of the Sphinx to set such a task but if she was borne of sorcery then what could be expected?

He stared up at her with her willowy featured face and wild, untamed lion half. There was no way he could ever trust such a thing as magic, not if it created such abnormalities.

Suddenly, an inspirational thought came to him, what if the morning meant the beginning of life? As a child you crawled on all fours before you could walk, didn't you? He remembered being told that he was a terror as a toddler, zooming around his nursery on his hands and knees. And then midday could be in the middle of your life: as an adult who walked on two feet. And the twilight years….with a cane! His father was always on about how old he was getting and soon he would need a cane to help him get around with his knee problems. And the weakest of the three had the most legs: the baby. It was completely helpless.

"Its man!" he shouted at the Sphinx. All those around him jumped, astonished by his outburst. He was surprised himself but for some reason he felt absolutely sure of himself. This answer could not be wrong.

"Congratulations, you have correctly answered the second riddle. Man—who crawls on all fours as a baby, then walks on two feet as an adult, and then walks with a cane in old age. Just one left now." She gave them all a curl of her lip, as if she knew exactly how difficult the last riddle was.

Arthur had no idea where to start. It was just so vague. There wasn't even an obvious place to start. He glanced around at his men once more but this time they looked completely at a loss. Sir Erec offered him a tight smile of encouragement that looked more like a grimace. Usually, he could count on the oldest knight – he was the wisest and most mature of them all – but it was obvious that this task had scuppered him just as much as the others.

Feeling completely hopeless, the prince looked back at the Sphinx. He could tell that she knew very well that he had no idea of this last answer. It was most likely very evident in his eyes.

"Have you an answer for me, young man?"

"No, but as a prince, I demand that you allow us safe passage," he stated, with more bravado than he felt. "And if you harm a single one of my men…I will have your head."

The Sphinx visibly scoffed at this, her pretty almond eyes full of condescension, as she flexed her claws, experimentally. Casually, she inspected one to see if it was sharp enough to do the job. It was not usual that she would have to take on such a large party and it would not be without its war wounds – she could tell by the young man's sword skills – but it was a risk she was willing to take in order to feast upon their tasty bodies.

Licking her lips, she smiled.

"Unfortunately, I cannot change the tradition which has been carried out here for hundreds of years. I am bound to this spot as the guardian of the lower region. And if you can't answer the final riddle then you _will _be my supper."

"So be it," Arthur frowned, bracing himself. The knights around him held their blades upright; ready to parry the blows which would undoubtedly rain down on them. He felt his heart slam against his ribs.

"Sire, wait!" He felt a halting hand on his arm and found that Merlin was standing beside him, a determined expression on his face. "I think I know what it is."

"You do?" Arthur couldn't help the fact that his voice sounded surprised and he felt immediately guilty when he saw the twitch of his manservant's lips. It probably looked like he had no faith in him at all. And he did! He really did.

Silently, he watched the young ash-haired man take a deep breath and stepped up to face the Sphinx. She surveyed him with interested eyes but Arthur couldn't help but think that she was just looking upon him as a snack. There wasn't much meat on Merlin after all – he was skin and bone. Hardly filling.

He was quiet for a moment, aware that this was their only chance and then…

"A secret," Merlin whispered. The Sphinx turned its feminine head and stared at him for a great length of time. Its cat-like eyes seemed…knowing. Slowly, her bow-lips curved into an amused smile.

"And of course," she paused, "You would know about that, wouldn't you, Emrys?"

Arthur observed the boy visibly tense, as if rigid with shock, and his hands clenched by his sides. Why had she called Merlin…Emrys? That wasn't his name. It didn't make sense. He wondered if Merlin knew what the creature was on about; it seemed as though he did, judging by his stance. He would have to quiz the young man about that later, if they survived. The sphinx still hadn't told them whether the answer was correct.

"Am I right?" Merlin asked, boldly, seeming to ignore her previous words.

"Yes, you are, Emrys," the sphinx smiled, "Well done, you have granted yourself and your party passage across the river. It is unfortunate for me, I was looking forward to sinking my teeth into your soft limbs, but those are the rules."

The great creature nodded at them and then jumped back below to vanish from sight. Every single person breathed a collective sigh of relief and the knights could finally sheath their blades. Arthur held his sword up for a few more seconds, just in case the Sphinx was not being truthful. However, when she did not reappear, he knew that had succeeded.

Swivelling on the spot, he turned to outright stare at his manservant. The young man offered him a weak smile in return.

"How the _hell _did you work that out, Merlin?"

"Oh, you know, I have got quite a lot of experience with secrets," the boy shrugged. "Anyway, shall we go?"

* * *

They had set up camp for the night: the horses were securely tethered to a makeshift wooden crossbar, their heads drooping with fatigue and their forelocks flopping down their noses; the roll mats were cast out on the uneven ground, softened by the musty leaf litter; a flickering fire shimmered in the centre of the circle that had been formed from logs, bits of ash and sparks of flame leaping and jumping into the cold air.

Merlin warmed his hands on the flames, enjoying the heat that seeped into him. It was like drinking a warm beverage, the kind that his mother used to prepare for him as a youngster when he'd been out playing in the snow with Will. The toasty feeling began in his stomach and spread outwards so his fingers and toes tingled. He smiled softly to himself.

The smile widened as the warm presence of Arthur sat down beside him on the log.

"Cor, these logs aren't half uncomfortable; how you manage to sit on here without any padding whatsoever is beyond me."

"What?" Merlin laughed, puzzled.

"You know, with your bony backside," Arthur replied, matter-of-factly.

Merlin arched an eyebrow and shook his head. Sometimes, his master did, honestly, astound him. "I'm used to it."

"Hmm…." Arthur murmured closing his eyes as the heat surrounded him.

"Why don't you go to sleep, my lord? You look exhausted."

"I could say the same about you," the prince retorted, his eyes still shut.

"I can hardly go to sleep before my master," Merlin said, sleepily, "Against servant etiquette and all that."

Arthur snorted. "That's ridiculous. You can go to bed when you please."

"Hardly."

"Well, if it makes things easier for you, I'll go now," the prince said, standing up. He paused. "Thanks, by the way, for working out the last riddle. I didn't really say before. You're not as stupid as you look."

"You've told me that before."

"I only just realised again, you hide it so well. Anyway, goodnight." He left the log and headed to his bed roll. He slipped easily between the covers.

Merlin followed suit.

* * *

With the morning came an unexpected sunshine and so the travelling group's spirits were lifted like the leaves in the wind which had buffeted them the previous day. Although the actual temperature was still on the cold side, the occasional glance of sunshine helped to warm the blood.

The sound of birds twittering and singing filled the air as several larks and a swallow graced the skies. Their multitude of fluttering wings outlined against the pastel blue sky and their necks arched elegantly as they flew among one another. Gently, one single skylark nuzzled another's downy shoulder as they soared; a sign of undying affection.

Merlin watched them with enraptured eyes and wished that he too could travel so freely and sing so sweetly. He wished he shared such love as the skylark did with someone; Arthur always seemed to have all these suitors and sweethearts but who did he have? It remained to be seen. Besides, who on earth could he trust with his secret? He wasn't a normal man and it saddened him that, perhaps, he would never know such companionship and happiness. Surely, after all he'd been through, he deserved _something_?

"Merlin!"

He turned, instinctively, at the sound of his voice and caught sight of his master who was trotting up to him quickly. The prince looked to be in pain and he wondered what could be the matter. No doubt something he would be expected to sort out.

"Yes, sire?" he replied, his tone suggesting helpfulness; his eyes betraying his actual feelings.

"Don't look at me like that," Arthur said, immediately. He always _could _tell when his manservant wasn't being entirely sincere. Well, most of the time. "I need to ask you a favour."

"When don't you?" Merlin smirked.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "Excuse me, but I think its part of your job to do things for me considering I _am _your master. You should start behaving like a proper servant for a change."

"The shock would kill you, sire," the boy quipped, his cerulean eyes sparkling like they were studded with diamonds.

"Too right. Anyway, I have a problem."

Merlin's lip twitched. He was intrigued. "Yes?"

"Not _that _kind of problem!" the blond prince yelped when he noticed the manservant's change in tone and knowing smile. "Merlin, you really aren't as innocent as you make out, are you?"

The boy shrugged.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I have a problem. It's to do with my teeth. Well, one tooth to be exact. It's giving me a lot of pain."

"I can tell. Your face is all screwed up like you're having trouble going to the toilet."

Arthur snorted. "What a pleasant description, Merlin. I want _you _to pull it out for me."

"Me?" Merlin exclaimed, surprised, "Surely, you would rather one of the knights do it? They would be stronger and probably a great deal less clumsy."

"I trust you to do it, Merlin, not them," the man replied, honestly. Then he paused. "But if you mess it up, trust _me _when I say that I will knock every single tooth from your head."

"No pressure then."

It was a short time later when they stopped and Arthur and his manservant moved a small distance away from where the rest of the knights were resting. They watched them suspiciously. Once they were out of earshot, Arthur handed Merlin a small knife which he'd sterilised with some alcohol and hot water. His hand was only trembling very slightly as he passed it over. It wasn't that he didn't trust Merlin….he was just worried about the pain.

Bracing himself, the prince opened his mouth as wide as he could and closed his eyes. Merlin stared at him for a moment, pondering the vulnerability of Arthur's position and the power of his own. He could have a lot of fun with this….but he wouldn't because he was good and kind and not sadistic in any way. Well, maybe a little bit. He had to admit it caused him the tiniest amount of satisfaction when he dug the point of the blade into Arthur's gum and heard him yell out. It was kind of like revenge for all the times he'd been hit, shoved and stabbed at by his master.

Perhaps, he shouldn't admit to that though.

With one last wrenching twist and a very unmanly scream, the tooth loosed from its canal and flew out of Arthur's mouth. The rotten, blackened remains of it lay on the leafy floor.

The two boys gazed at it for a moment as Arthur wiped a few tears that had somehow dribbled from his eyes.

"I don't think we should talk about this again. Not if you value your tongue."

"And I don't think you should eat so many sweet things but we can't all get what we want, can we?" Merlin laughed.


	10. Stalker Chicken

**Author's Note - Thanks for the reviews. They were all brilliant and it was lovely to get such a large response! It really does inspire me! **

**Oh geez, this is so bad! I have come up with the most wonderful idea for the next chapter and I really, really want to write it and show it to you guys so badly! I'm afraid this chapter might suffer because of it. Though it is uber long to make up for it!**

There was a chicken following them. Shortly before, the group had passed through a small hamlet that was nestled into a valley bottom in order to stock up on supplies and now they seemed to have a stalker. The small creature, which had dark brown feathers and a pair of curious black eyes, was picking its way along the woodland path as if it was a spy trailing targets. Every time Merlin glanced round it fluttered its wings frantically and wobbled all over the place as if trying to decide where to run and hide. He found it highly amusing.

Eventually, it turned into an unofficial game of how many times he could make the little bird jump.

No one else seemed to have noticed or didn't care about their stalker-chicken. Then again, they were knights and they tended not to observe the more trivial things in the world; they were more concerned with shiny swords and wooing women. He wondered whether Arthur would find it as amusing as he did that this chicken wouldn't leave them alone.

Riding up along side the prince, he reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Arthur."

"_How _many times, Merlin?! You can't treat me like your bloody gossip buddy; I am the _Prince_ _of Camelot_."

Merlin grinned. "As if you don't tell me _that _enough! Anyway," he continued, completely ignoring Arthur's protest, "There is something following us."

"There is?" Arthur froze in his saddle, suddenly serious. He didn't dare look round for fear of scaring the thing away. "What is it Merlin? Do you think it's a threat? Pass me my cross bow."

Doing as he was told, the young man smirked once more. "It's a chicken, sire."

"A _what_?"

"A chicken."

"You're having a laugh."

"At your expense," Merlin sniggered.

"Hmph…." the prince grumbled before turning in his saddle and taking one look at the flitting bird that was rummaging in the leaf debris for grubs and firing. The cross bolt hit the creature in the side and it keeled over with an agonised squawk.

Merlin let out a yelp of distress.

He drew his horse to a halt with a sharp tug of his reins and leapt down onto the floor, almost tripping over in the process. Swiftly, he hurried over to the fallen chicken's side and touched its feathers; they were warm and sticky with crimson blood.

"How could you?!" He turned fiery eyes on his master, his mouth pulled tight in a thin line."

"It's a _chicken_, Merlin. Don't become a sissy on me," Arthur replied, flippantly. Merlin did not look impressed. "Besides, it will be a tasty meal later."

"You're a real ass sometimes, you know that?" the boy snapped, dropping the corpse on the floor and stalking off into the trees.

Arthur watched him go with incredulous eyes. Why did his manservant so often act like a stroppy girl? It was like he had hormones and everything. One minute he'd been upbeat and enthusiastic; flying in the sky like a canary and the next he'd be furious, lecturing Arthur on the rights and wrongs and injustices in the world. He was worse than Morgana sometimes.

Sighing and signalling for his men to stop for a break, he dismounted his horse and strode off through the undergrowth in order to look for his petulant servant.

It was only after battling through several spiky thickets and bumping his shins numerous times on fallen logs that were hidden in clumps of nettles, that he found Merlin. The raven headed man was leaning against a tree, his hands clenched into angry fists by his sides and his muscles jumping erratically in his jaw. At some point, he must have run disgruntled fingers through his hair as there was a particular tuft that stood up from the rest and made him look quite silly. If Arthur hadn't known that he was so agitated then he would have made some sort of joke.

Stopping a few metres away from the youth, Arthur blew out an uncomfortable breath from his cheeks and scratched the back of his head. He wasn't really sure where to start. Would a straight out apology suffice? Merlin tended to want more; he was just irritating like that.

"Er….I'm….er, sorry about your chicken, Merlin," he finally managed.

There was no reply.

"I probably shouldn't have killed it."

No reply.

"Look, I said I'm sorry."

"All right, all right," Merlin replied, looking up abruptly with a small smile gracing his lips. "I accept your apology. Though I'm not sure Charlie would say the same."

"Charlie?"

"The chicken."

Arthur stared at his manservant for a long time, not really quite sure how to react. Eventually, he just let out a bemused laugh and shook his head at the ludicrousness of the statement. It could only be Merlin who would name a chicken Charlie. In fact, it would only be Merlin who would care at all whether a chicken lived or died. He really was too sensitive about such things.

However, Arthur's mind was now moving onto other things. Whilst he had his manservant here, alone, and unguarded, then perhaps he could quiz him about something else that had been plaguing him since the incident at the bridge. Biting his lip slightly, the prince looked Merlin straight in his bright blue eye.

"Why did the Sphinx call you Emrys, Merlin?"

There it was again. That seize of the shoulders that made it look as though someone had just dropped a piece of ice down the back of the manservant's jerkin. His whole body seemed to clam up; invert on itself. Arthur wasn't a prince, a knight and a skilled hunter for nothing; he noticed these almost imperceptible things. Especially, when it came to Merlin.

"Merlin?" he persisted.

The boy was weighing up his options, Arthur could tell. His brain was working overtime to come up with a solution; a way to throw the prince off the scent. Arthur was determined not to be swayed though. He would get the right answer eventually.

"I don't know, Arthur," Merlin shrugged, "Perhaps she mistook me for someone else."

"But what did she mean about the secret? And that you would know about that?" Arthur was dogged in his questioning. He was never one to skirt round the issue once he got into the thick of things.

Merlin took a deep breath. "I honestly have no idea. If I knew, sire, I promise that I would tell you."

Arthur immediately knew that when Merlin used the word 'sire' he had brought up the defences and there would be no way of penetrating them this time round. Of course, he wouldn't give up but there was no point persisting when the manservant addressed him in such a formal, detached way. The only time he ever opened up was when they were on first name basis. Obviously, whatever he was hiding was important to him but how on earth had a Sphinx – who he had never met before – known about such a secret?

And why Emrys?!

Although he was not completely content to stop his querying, the prince knew that he needed to leave things to cool down; catch Merlin when he was least expecting it. It would take them at least another week to reach the mountains. He would try again then.

"All right, its just you looked like you understood her," Arthur stated, deliberately nonchalant. Unfortunately, even that did not gain a rise. "Shall we return to the horses?"

* * *

They rode for the rest of the day, long and hard, with the winter firmly on their backs. It was with great relief when they stopped for the night and had a chance to rest their aching limbs and thaw themselves on a toasty fire. Somehow, it seemed to fall to Merlin to get supper cooking and by the time he'd done that he was coughing, his eyes were watering from the smoke and he was covered in ash. He decided that he should probably venture down to the nearby river and have a wash.

He was surprised when Arthur followed him down but not disappointed as that it gave him a lot of potential to severely annoy the man for what he had done earlier. If Arthur thought he was going to get away with _murdering _Charlie that easily, then he had another thing coming. Merlin was in no doubt that he was in for a dunk.

Casually shedding his over clothes, the manservant placed his boots and other belongs beside the water and dipped a tentative toe in. It was freezing. Inhaling quickly, he tried his whole foot and flinched at the temperature. Why the hell had he decided to do this? Going for a bathe in _winter_? How much more stupid could you get? Still, he was here now and he definitely needed a clean, judging by the smell.

Bracing himself, he began splashing himself with the icy liquid, feeling the droplets splatter his face and his goose-pimpled skin. His whole body clenched in shock and pain whilst his teeth chattered noisily in his head.

He glanced round and caught sight of the blond haired prince who was rubbing his thick biceps in an effort to keep warm.

"Come on, Arthur, its _l-l-lovely_ in," Merlin chattered.

"I can tell," Arthur chuckled. His manservant was actually turning a pale shade of blue.

"Don't be a wimp."

"Merlin, you can't call _me _a wimp."

"I just did," Merlin quipped.

As if the other man's words had spurred him into action, Arthur wandered slowly over to the edge of the river and carefully dropped a foot in. He withdrew it immediately, yelping at the coldness. Unfortunately, this moment of weakness allowed Merlin to leap over to him and, quick as a flash, drag him beneath the water. There was a tussle beneath the icy surface before the prince popped up, drawing a great, shuddering breath into his shocked lungs.

"_Merlin_! You-you….absolute _rat_!"

"Rat?" he smirked, "I'm offended. Then again, if I look anything like you do then it's probably an apt description."

It was true, the pair of them looked like drown rats, with their hair plastered to their scalps and their eyes bright and bulging from the cold. Both of them had paled considerably due to the decreased temperature their bodies were experiencing. Merlin looked practically snow-white.

"You know, I'm going to get you back," Arthur commented, dryly – or wetly, whichever way you looked at it.

"I never doubted it," Merlin replied just as the prince launched himself across the water. However, the manservant was too quick and he was up and out of the water quicker than a horse with a wasp sting on its bottom.

Scrambling over the shingles in bare feet was not the most comfortable of things but Merlin had only one thought and that was to escape his master. Ignoring the stones that stuck into his soft feet, he stumbled into the cover of the trees and carried on sprinting, his long legs carrying him across the hard-packed turf. He only stubbed his bare toes a few times. And tripped _once_.

When he tumbled, sopping wet and breathless, into the camp that they had set up, he must have looked quite a sight. He stopped in the middle of the circle of logs, his eyes bright with merriment. Running a pale hand through his pitch coloured locks he offered Sir Morholt an amused grin and received a, frankly, murderous glare in return. He didn't really care; he was having too much fun.

Arthur appeared moments later.

"What happened to you two?" Segwarides questioned, curiously, looking from one half-naked, soaking boy to the other. "Did you almost drown?"

"Merlin almost drowned _me_, didn't you Merlin?" Arthur answered, in a mock accusatory tone. Morholt immediately rose from his log, ready to deal with the troublemaker but he was stopped by a sharp look from the prince. He sat back down, disgruntled.

"It was revenge," Merlin shrugged and grinned broadly. He received a smile from Segwarides and he wasn't sure what to make of it, so he just continued to smirk. "Next time you should think twice about killing innocent chickens."

"I will, especially if they have been named Charlie by my psychopathic manservant."

* * *

Strangely, Merlin awoke very early in the morning, even before the rest of the knights had risen. That irked him somewhat because it meant he had less sleep but there was no way he would get back to sleep now – once he was awake, he was awake until nightfall. He reckoned it was some ingrained instinct from being a hardworking peasant most of his life where you had to use as much of the day as you could.

There was no sun today, just a bleak canvas of greys and blacks that swirled together in some depressing piece of artwork. He was in little doubt that it would rain or snow later judging by the weight that the clouds held; they looked as if they would burst like over stuffed pillows at any moment. That was unfortunate because his clothes were still damp from yesterday. Well, his underclothes, he'd left the rest of his stuff down at the river the night before because he was too tired to go and fetch them. Arthur had got his own things but had neglected to pick up Merlin's declaring that he was 'not a servant' and this served the Merlin right for 'drenching him'.

Wearily, the manservant tugged on a fresh blue shirt and tucked it into the loose belt of his trousers. Carefully, he tied his scarf round his neck and then padded off to the river in order to fetch his boots and clothes.

However, when he arrived at the riverside the garments were nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Merlin searched everywhere: overturning rocks, parting bushes, sifting through nettles but he couldn't see them. He wondered whether Arthur had lied and had brought them back to camp or perhaps (this option seemed more likely) the prince had hidden them in order to play a prank on his servant. In Merlin's opinion, it wasn't very funny because he was exhausted and just wanted something warm on his feet.

Annoyed, he trudged back up to the camp, determined to wake up the prince when he arrived and demand to know where he'd put his boots.

Arthur was sleeping soundly still, his face buried into the jacket he was using for an impromptu pillow and his chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath his sleeping sack. He looked strangely angelic; his features at peace and not contorted in some kind of condescending or irritated expression. Merlin wondered why he couldn't look like that more often.

Gently, he shook the man awake.

"Arthur? Arthur," he whispered, conscious of not waking the others.

"Huh? Wha-?" Arthur groaned and turned over, batting his servant away with a flat palm.

"For crying out loud, Arthur, wake up." Merlin shook him more vigorously this time and the prince jolted awake, his cobalt blue eyes bleary and confused.

"Merlin? What time is it? The sun hasn't come up!" he glared up at the sky and then back at his irksome servant.

"There is no sun, sire, its winter," Merlin sighed. "Where have you put my boots and stuff?"

"Your boots?" Arthur frowned. He was still sleepy but he could comprehend what the younger man was asking – just.

"My boots and stuff. Where are they?"

"Why does that have anything to do with me?"

The blond haired man sat up now, rubbing a calloused hand over his eyes in an effort to get rid of the crustiness that had accumulated there. He blinked fiercely and then continued to glare up at his servant. Why was he _so _annoying?

"You've hidden them."

"I have not."

"You have."

"I have _not_¸ Merlin." Arthur buffeted him over the head just to prove the point. "Why can't you get that into your thick skull? What would I want with your rotten boots?"

"You don't have them?"

"That's what I _said_. You are incredibly dim, you know that?"

"Then who has them?"

"I don't know," Arthur yawned, completely losing interest, "Maybe someone _nicked _them. Perhaps they wandered past the river last night and thought 'Ooh, look at those lovely second-hand boots and those tatty old servant's clothes. I'll have _them_, thank you very much.'"

"They were nice boots!" Merlin protested. He hated the prince casting aspersions on his boots, they were his pride and joy because he'd won them in a bet from a tanner and they had lasted him years. They were practically old friends. "Maybe you're right. I'll go check for tracks!"

The boy vanished from Arthur's eyesight and he let out a desperate moan and collapsed once more on his bed roll. He couldn't believe that Merlin had got him up this early to discuss _boots_. What a complete and utter tool!

Then again, he pondered, what if he was right and some thieves had come in the night and stolen Merlin's things. It wouldn't really be surprising; the forest was thick with robbers and outlaws, they'd already met several on their journey. They had been surprisingly vicious and well-armed. As he thought this, Arthur realised that he could have sent Merlin into a death trap. He shot up out of bed. Damn!

Gathering a few things – his sword was the most important – Arthur glanced at the knights and decided there was little point in waking them. Merlin wouldn't have got far and he was probably overreacting, there would be no bandits and he would only embarrass himself in front of the other men. It was better to catch up with the manservant alone and bring him back before he got hurt. That would be easiest and least humiliating.

Hurrying in the direction of the river, Arthur hoped he would catch up with Merlin before he got himself in too much trouble.

* * *

Somehow, his completely obvious, unsubtle manservant had vanished from sight – and that was a first, usually you could see his great big footprints from metres off. Unfortunately, it seemed the lack of shoes had done Merlin a lot of favours on the 'being untraceable' front. He did, however, find evidence of lots of other footprints and realised that they must belong to the thieves (he still couldn't believe these thieves had bothered stealing his manservant's old boots) so he began to follow them. Undoubtedly, Merlin would have done the same thing.

The bandits didn't seem to be covering their tracks – a mistake in Arthur's book, you should always be wary of who followed you – so he continued on their path easily. Even though Merlin was completely useless at hunting and tracking, he knew that even he would still be managing to follow such a clear trail.

Running a single finger down a cut in a tree that seemed to have been caused by a knife of some kind; the cut was so deep that the tree's sticky amber resin was seeping out and soiling the smooth bark. It was obviously a deliberate mark. Arthur wondered at what it could mean. Perhaps, it was the bandits marking their territory like male dogs.

Up ahead, his ears suddenly picked up raised voices. Immediately, imaging Merlin was in trouble, he surged forward like a wolf racing to protect one of its vulnerable pack. All his senses were heightened and his sword was gripped tightly in his strong hand. Slipping between two elder trees, he peered into a clearing.

"Just let me go. _Please_." Well, that certainly wasn't Merlin's voice. Despite how often that the prince claimed his manservant was a girl in disguise, his voice wasn't that high and feminine.

His gaze fell upon a young woman who stood in the space, surrounded by a group of three men who were all staring at her lewdly. One of them in particular, his face grimy and his eyes piggy, was eyeing her up like a piece of meat. Her face was heart-shaped and her blonde hair drawn up into a loose bun, emphasising her high cheekbones. She had a cloth bag slung over her bag which Arthur assumed held some kind of food she had been collecting or perhaps clothes if she was travelling. She looked native though.

"I'm afraid, love, that that just ain't possible."

"_Please_?" the girl begged, her eyes huge and round with unshed tears.

"As I said: not possible."

"But I have a baby! Please!"

It was obvious that the men hadn't realised there was a child in the bag on the girl's back, just as Arthur hadn't; because they broke into muttering as they heard it whimper pitifully. Although he didn't speak French he heard the crying. Two of them looked uncomfortable but the third still looked intent on the idea that he had in his mind for this nubile young woman. Arthur was sickened by the disgusting expression on his face.

"You can't….you can't…" the girl continued to whisper as they grew closer. She closed her eyes.

Arthur realised that it was probably now that he should step in. Swinging his sword lazily over his shoulder, he was fairly confident that he could take on these three leeches and escape unscathed.

"Excuse me," Arthur interrupted, in English, and held the weapon out in front of him, bending his legs in preparation.

"Where the hell did you come from?" one of the men yelled and grabbed his own axe.

The clang of metal reverberated in the early morning air and Arthur felt the shudder of the collision all the way up his arm. His muscles rippled in his shoulders and he yanked the sword round to one side, swiping at the bandit's legs. As he did so, he heard a terrified scream to his left and saw that the remaining men were grappling with the girl. She was kicking and shrieking and biting for all she was worth.

Suddenly, she let out the most heart-wrenching, soul-shattering screech and Arthur glanced over again to see her being lifted upwards and backwards. This caused her baby to slip from its safety cocoon and plummet, headfirst, towards the hard frosted ground. Arthur didn't think he had the stomach to watch and he didn't have to because the bandit had just aimed a slice at his neck and only narrowly missed as the prince jolted, lightning fast, out of the way.

The next time he turned round the girl was still screaming and the baby was lying on the floor in a pathetic bundle. A lump formed in his throat but he kept fighting.

* * *

Merlin had followed the tracks; he had thought little of the consequences of his actions until he remembered the previous incident on this trip with bandits. By this time, it was too late and he decided he may as well head on anyway. If he got into a spot of bother then….well, he'd cross that bridge _if _it came to it. Which it probably would, knowing him.

His tracking skills were somewhat lacking, as Arthur had told him numerous times on their hunts together. He just couldn't help it. He wasn't programmed that way; besides, if he really wanted to follow someone or something then he could use magic – if he was desperate. All this looking for signs and tiny marks was stupid.

It was after he'd visited the same great old oak tree twice that he realised he'd been going wrong. Annoyed with himself, he caught sight of a mark in the tree nearby that suggested that was the way the thieves had gone. Determined not to go wrong this time, he followed it.

The sound of clashing metal assaulted his ears and he wondered what on earth he had come upon? Surely, the bandits would not be fighting themselves? Perhaps, they had found a rival group and were battling it out for land? It was neither of these things, as it turned out; instead, it was none other than Arthur Pendragon smashing away at a fellow with a blunt axe.

A young woman stood a little way away from where he was hidden among the shadows of the trees and she was struggling with two rough looking men. They had lifted her up, in order to stop her moving easily and there was something falling from her sling. He realised, only after it began its descent and when he saw the horrified look in the girl's eyes, that it was a tiny raven haired baby.

Without thinking, his eyes flashed tawny and he slowed down time (just as he had many times before like saving Gaius and Arthur) so that he could gently lower the child onto a bed of soft leaves. It landed as tenderly as if it had been placed. Merlin smiled, satisfied. The woman was still screeching like banshee though. He winced. He watched Arthur take out the two bandits and then rush over to where the blonde girl was staring at her baby. He couldn't read their faces and he wondered whether it had died of the shock or something. Worried, he hurried from his hiding place.

"There you are, Merlin! Where the _hell _have you been skulking?"

"I got lost."

"Figures," Arthur sighed, "Can you ask this girl if her baby is all right? It fell from a height and I couldn't save it because I was too busy fighting off the bandits. If you had been here then, perhaps, it would have been saved but, no, you had to go and get _lost_!"

Merlin scowled at the floor and tried not to blurt out that he had indeed helped out. Keeping his magic secret was such a hard task.

He smiled at the girl. "Is your baby all right?"

"She is fine!" the girl babbled, "I don't know how. She should be hurt. She should be dead. But she is fine!" She was beaming through her tears. "It's magic."

"It certainly is," Merlin grinned and placed a gentle hand on the baby's downy head. He may not get the credit but he had saved this little girl's life. That was worth it in itself.

And there were his boots!

**Ok, so I know Charlie isnt an old fashioned name but I don't care. :)**


	11. Into the Mountains

**Author's Note - Thanks very much for the reviews and sorry for the length of time between updates!**

**Didn't really like Merlin last night. Was a bit pointless :/ **

**Some of you have been complaining about the lack of Merlin-bashing and I'm sorry for that but it's because I've been saving it up. I'll explain in this chapter so be ready for one of the meanest things Morholt does yet. **

**Random note - listening to Fireflies by Owl City right now. So good. Recommend it if you like pretty songs!**

Emerald green fields rolled seamlessly into undulating hills that were coated in a thick blanket of evergreen trees and behind those mounds protruded enormous mountains with snowy white peaks and granite grey cliffs. It was a harsh cacophony of colours; so bright and stark against one another and the blue backdrop of the sky. Never before had Merlin seen such vibrancy or brilliance.

A solitary eagle soared lazily over the raised ground, its wing spanning for metres across, as it floated on warm eddies of air. Its sharp yellow eyes scanned the land for signs of life and prospective prey.

At the very foot of one of the hills nestled a small village, brown against the frosted green grass, with snakes of smoke winding up into the sky and dispersing into nothingness. This was a strong reminder of the cold season that they were currently in and the thought of warm fires was certainly an attractive one. Even more so when one looked to the left and saw the dark clouds marring the otherwise picturesque scene – it signalled the arrival of the first snowfall. Not a welcome turn of events.

Arthur scratched the back of his head as he stared up at the mountains that towered over the countryside. He hadn't been expecting _that_. They were meant to be _hills _not bloody great hulks of rock; especially not bloody great hulks of rock covered in snow.

With a slightly awkward expression on his face, he turned to his knights. "We….er…may have to stop off in the village up ahead in order to, you know, get some supplies. I may have slightly misjudged the size of the mountains….and the weather."

"Just slightly," Morholt smiled, teasing the prince.

"Yes, Morholt," Arthur replied and punched him playfully on the arm, "But you're not meant to agree with me when I make mistakes."

"Really, sire?"

"Really." Arthur sighed and urged his horse into a gallop. "Last one to the village is….a rotten turnip."

Merlin shook his head as he watched the knights kick their steeds into action immediately; they were such mindless idiots. Just because Arthur bet them something or challenged them, they complied without thinking. Was it just a knight thing or were all men – except him – ridiculously competitive? He was guessing the latter. Why was he such a misfit?

Nudging his mare into a canter, Merlin followed the pack of gallivanting fools and tried not to think about the cold that was whipping through his thin shirt.

* * *

The pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly on the frosted floor and several thick socks rolled away across the turf like escaping mice. It was an assortment of woollen, sheepskin and moleskin garments that Arthur and his knights had gathered from around the village. They were the only items that the villagers had to spare and were willing to sell for a reasonable sum of money (Arthur had been generous with his payments as he knew they didn't own much).

He had already taken his pick of the crop: a wonderfully thick jumper that seemed to stop all the heat from escaping from his body, several linen undershirts and pair of under-trousers. Now, he was warmer than he'd been in a long time and he was well prepared for the freezing journey ahead. The knights chose their garments after him and quickly shrugged them on. Sir Peregrine was looking extremely amusing in a bright purple woollen hat that clashed horribly with his flaming red hair.

There were still a few baggy jumpers and mittens left on the floor and a particularly ghastly moleskin overcoat which was battered and moth-eaten. Arthur smiled slightly to himself as he imagined the only person who wasn't present wearing them.

Merlin.

He'd sent the raven haired boy off to collect some new flints because they would undoubtedly need to light plenty of fires whilst out on the cold, open mountainside and also, to get a new shoe for one of the horses which had lost it awhile back and had been limping since. It had been Sir Morholt's steed and if Merlin hadn't spotted the problem then the poor animal would be lame; Arthur had been surprised his own, skilled knight hadn't noticed the difficulty his horse was having.

Scooping up the remainder of the clothes, Arthur called Morholt over and dumped them in his outstretched arms. The dark haired man looked at him, questioningly.

"I want you to fetch Merlin and your horse. You can give these to him whilst you're there. Meet us at the edge of the village."

"Yes, my lord," Morholt nodded and hurried off in the direction he knew the blacksmith to be.

As he took length strides along the dirt path, Morholt considered his position on this journey. Obviously, he had decided to rid the party of the tiresome Merlin and he was still planning on doing so – it was just a matter of biding his time. When he had initially wanted to get shot of the bumbling buffoon, he hadn't realised quite how close he and the prince had become, thus, making it much harder for him to come between them or cause any lasting damage. He had done his best, yes, but somehow; Merlin had overcome his attempts and was still there, bounding along at the prince's side like a gambolling puppy.

And Morholt _loathed _him for it.

There was only so much one could do to a man with words and mental abuse. He had reached the conclusion that he must do away with the manservant by more physical means. If that meant killing him, so be it, and he had the perfect plan – Arthur had literally dropped it right into his lap.

For he was in possession of the vital clothes that Merlin would need to survive the harsh winter up in the mountains and if he didn't give them to him…well, he wasn't going to survive very long. And the beauty of the strategy was that no one need know that it was him who had caused it, it could seem like a complete accident; a tragic incident. The guilt would not fall on him.

His lip curling in a malicious smile, Morholt dumped the clothes in a water barrel that stood outside a wooden house. He kept that nasty overcoat back, though, there needed to be some evidence that he'd given Merlin something after all. Continuing on his journey, he came across the manservant who was gently stroking the velvety muzzle of Morholt's jet black horse. Tenderly, he whispered soft encouraging words into the animal's cocked ear as the blacksmith finished his work. He looked up when Morholt arrived.

Morholt was pleased to see his eyes flickering with wariness.

"Slave-boy," he began but was rudely interrupted, as usual, by Merlin.

"Have you _still _not grown tired of that?" the boy asked, irritably.

"Never," Morholt replied, softly, "Slave. Prince Arthur asked me to fetch you and to give you this coat. It's for the cold weather in the mountains."

Merlin took the proffered item and held it up, an expression of disgust marring his elfin features as he inspected it. Arthur could not be serious.

"Is this it?" he queried, incredulously.

"Be grateful for what you've been given, slave. It's more than you deserve; if you were my servant you would walk naked up into those hills for your impudence."

"But I'm not," Merlin pointed out, frostily.

"And you best be thankful for _that _too. Come on, let's go."

Morholt smirked at the young man and grabbed his arm, digging his fingers into the soft skin of Merlin's arm. The boy flinched in pain but said nothing – he would not rise to any bait that the knight held in front of him. However, he could deal with Morholt being harsh to him but Arthur treating him with disrespect was something he couldn't handle. Just because he was a servant didn't mean he didn't deserve better clothes.

Pulling the overly large, repulsive smelling robe over his bony shoulders, Merlin hoped that it would do _something _to keep out the fearsome coldness that they would indubitably encounter.

* * *

It started to snow, just as Merlin had predicted. The first flake tumbled down from the clay-white sky and landed gently on his cheek, melting with the heat. After that one, several more fluttered down like miniscule feathers, peppering the group's clothing with white dots. The manservant pulled all his layers tighter round himself.

Still, they made their way into the mountains gazing upon their splendour with awed expressions. They had their own mountain range back in Camelot but this was something else: the crisp white peaks stretched thousands of miles upwards and seemed to vanish into the thick cloud cover as they did so. Merlin imagined they were the steps to the kingdom of gods; he reckoned that they were sitting up there and messing with fates, controlling destinies and laughing all the while that they handed him the duff lot in life. Surely, if he was meant to be a great warlock then he shouldn't be here, in these blasted mountains, freezing his backside off and being bullied mercilessly by a bunch of half-witted knights? Destiny certainly wasn't fair.

Although he was growing colder by the minute – feeling the harsh wind whip through his meagre layers – he still found the magnificence in winter: the frosting that was dusted on the leaves of coniferous plants; the snowy white coats of the hares that dashed with loping gaits across the pass; the icicles that hung on the underside of tree branches like the shimmering teeth of a monster or the shining blades of new swords. He'd always held a private enthralment with icicles. They were just so beautiful and impossible.

When he was younger, he used to wrap up warm in the layers of woollen jumpers that his mother forced upon him and hurry out into the wintery landscape. He would rush up into the forest and search for icicles everyday. He would look among the sparse trees and the many cool caves that littered the woodland in order to find them. Once he had he would observe their unnatural qualities for hours; sometimes snapping a few cold daggers off and watching them melt into nothingness in his hot hand. Occasionally, he even put broken pieces on his tongue.

Spider webs in winter were also a fascination of his boyhood: the glittering crystals that attached themselves to the fragile, invisible threads and made them stunning. It was a wonderful transformation of something mundane into something extraordinary – it never ceased to amaze him.

Damn it, but he was just so cold.

He was continually shivering and his muscles began to ache. The feeling began in his shoulders – the horrible feeling of having pulled a muscle – and spread gradually over the rest of his slender body. Hunching against the coldness, trying to withdraw into himself, didn't help either as he just began to cramp up. Because of the pain he was experiencing, he moved more slowly and had to be, initially, cajoled along by Arthur. Eventually though, being a naturally impatient man, the prince grew tired of his lethargy and believed he was just being difficult.

"Pull yourself together, Merlin. You're a man not a pansy."

"I'd rather be a pansy," the boy chattered, unhappily, "Then I'd only come out in summer."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "As much as it amuses me that you would like to be a _flower_, can you get a move on? The slower you move, the slower _we _all have to move. And in case you hadn't noticed its bloody freezing out here."

"S-s-sorry," Merlin murmured with his eyes downcast. "I'm just cold."

"We're all cold, Merlin. It's winter."

Arthur sighed, having grown bored of the boy's obvious laziness, and trotted off up the mountain trail, leaving the manservant to tail the group of knights alone. Merlin bowed his head against the elements and tried to press on – he really did – but it just hurt too much. His mind had become hazy and he actually felt sick. All he wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep and for all the pain to just _leave him alone_.

With a frustrated grunt, he hefted one heavy foot up the path and found it slipping abruptly out from beneath him. He wind milled his arms in an effort to stop himself toppling over but to no avail. Instead, he landed with a hefty thud, jarring his back as he did so and letting out a howl of pain. No one up ahead seemed to hear him however, so there was no one to offer him a helping hand.

Slowly, he tried to pull his cumbersome body to its feet but his fingers scrabbled to get a grip on the icy turf – feeling for all the world like fat, ineffective sausages instead of useable digits. He stared at them for a moment, noting their blue-purple colour and how painful they felt. Initially, he would have said it started out as a tingling sensation but now the feeling was full blown agony. He shook them angrily and scuffled upright using his knees; they too hurt from the contact with the frozen ground.

On his feet, he swayed, the mist of snowflakes obscuring his vision.

"Arthur…" he attempted to call but his voice came out weak and muffled by the snowstorm. "Arthur…"

Blinking hard, he tried to focus on moving his limbs but they would not cooperate, he felt like he had no control over his own muscles anymore because they'd seized up and refused to move. He continued to shiver as the snow fell, coating him like a forgotten scarecrow in an abandoned field. With his inability to see and his inability to move, the boy felt truly helpless…and scared. The feeling of fear welled up inside him, threatening to burst forth from him in a hot, spitting lava.

"Arthur…" he tried again even he couldn't hear his own voice as it was instantly whipped away by the wind and snow.

He was lost and alone.

Allowing the feeling of despair and fear overcome him, Merlin sunk to his knees and then curled up in a tight ball, still feeling the fire burning in his limbs. He pillowed his head on his bony shoulder and found respite in unconsciousness.

* * *

Arthur trudged through the thick carpet of snow, growing more and more tired of the relentlessness of it as he went – he led his horse behind him as it was too difficult for it to carry him, he also had Merlin's as the boy was too lazy to drag it along. Even as a very fit, trained warrior, he was still fatigued by the constant process of sinking on foot into the ground only to have to wrench it out with all his effort again. The knights were also struggling from what he could see and he reckoned they should probably stop for the night to allow the majority of the storm to blow over. Then they could start afresh in the morning.

Turning to his knights, he called them over and they all gathered around him in a semi-circle, their horses shivering behind them, longing for green pastures and sunshine.

"Men, we shall search for shelter for the night. It will be difficult to find but a cave would be the best option. We shall spread out in order to cover more ground. Got it?" He had to shout to make himself heard over the howling wind.

"Yes, sire!" came the unified reply and the men peeled away with their horses.

As they vanished into the white oblivion, Arthur searched the dark bobbing heads for his manservant's tell-tale messy hair and lanky frame. He couldn't see him anywhere. Frowning, the prince attempted to count his companions but they had been swallowed by the snow and it was much too difficult. He decided that Merlin must be among them and set off in search of a cave.

His boots crunched and squeaked in the white powder and he pulled his hood further over his face to stop the harsh weather biting at his already reddened cheeks. As he licked his lips, they felt chapped and sore – he would need to apply some salve to them to stop them getting worse.

Tugging at his reluctant horses, the young man cursed Merlin for leaving him with another animal to look after. Merlin was supposed to be the servant; not him. He should be able to do his job properly; then again, he couldn't do _anything_ properly…

_Thump_.

Arthur frowned as he was halted in his tracks by something at his feet. He kicked it slightly with his foot, feeling the softness of it with his booted toes. It couldn't be a rock so he guessed it was probably some dead animal that hadn't survived the coldness of the winter or the remains of a kill that a mountain lion may have left behind. He hoped _he _didn't meet any mountain lions in this state – or in any state for that matter.

He attempted to shift the obstacle with his foot, squinting through the swirling snow in order to get a better look. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Curled up in a protective foetal position, Merlin lay on the floor, covered in reasonably thick blanket of snow. His cheek was dug into ground and his eyes were closed.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelped and spilled to his knees. He shook the boy, wondering what had happened. Was he injured? He shifted the manservant but found no obvious wounds. Then he registered the unnatural blueness that tinged Merlin's usually milky skin. That and the fact that he was icy to the touch made Arthur realise he was in a _lot _of trouble.

Gathering the boy up in his arms, struggling with limp limbs that seemed to have a life of their own and splayed all over the place, Arthur let go of the horses' reins (they could follow of their own accord) and hurried through the snow. It was like wading through tar but he persisted nonetheless; there was no way he was going to allow Merlin to die of the cold.

"Erec?! Segwarides?! Morholt? Men!" he yelled, desperately, into the snowstorm, spitting out the flakes that assaulted his mouth. His eyelashes were caked in snow and it was making his vision blurry.

"My lord?" the replies came almost instantly and the prince was thoroughly relieved to see them appear from the mist. "What is wrong?"

"Its Merlin, I think he has hypothermia. Have you found a shelter?" He felt the strong arms of Segwarides alleviate some of the load.

"No, there isn't a cave in sight," Sir Erec replied gravely, his grey eyes taking in the unconscious manservant with sympathy.

Arthur cursed. "There has to be somewhere?! Merlin needs somewhere warm and I am sure as hell not letting him die."

Suddenly, as if by magic, a blue orb appeared from nowhere - glowing in the flurry of snow. It hovered above the ground and Arthur's jaw dropped. He'd seen that ball of light before when he was in the cave getting the Morteus flower to save Merlin's life. And now it had come back; once again when he was in dire need.

"Follow that light!" he shouted at his men. They all looked confused. "Do what I say!"

Not wanting to disobey the prince although the light they were following was obviously conjured from some dark sorcerer, the knights complied, all on their guard in case something should happen. Morholt smiled in the obscurity of the weather. His plan was working perfectly.

* * *

The orb led them to a cave, one so well hidden that they certainly wouldn't have found had they not been shown. It truly was a miracle and they all bundled inside. It was so perfect in fact that there were two spaces inside it: a large one at the forefront of the cave in which they could stable the horses and a smaller one at the back – away from the howling wind and majority of the cold.

Arthur and Segwarides lay the unmoving manservant down on a roll mat.

"What now?" Arthur turned to Sir Erec, knowing full well that he was the most expert in maladies here.

"Stand back and I will give you my verdict."

Striding forward, the knight inspected the boy's body with gentle hands, running them up and down his icy skin whilst searching for a pulse and signs of breathing. He found both but they were very weak but at least it showed that Merlin was still alive – just. He checked for signs of frostbite too, just in case and found the beginnings of it on the manservant's toes.

With a serious expression, he rose to his feet.

"We must warm him immediately. We need to strip him of his wet clothes and get him into new ones. Then he must be placed in a sleeping sack by a fire and then all we can do is hope for the best."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, concerned by what he was not saying but decided that he would not ask for fear of what he would here. Instead, he quickly set his knights off to do tasks.

"Peregrine and Morholt, you light the fire. Lamorak see to the horses and make sure they are warm and secure. Erec and Tristram set about making something to warm us all for supper. Segwarides, will you help me in undressing Merlin?"

"Sire," they all nodded and set about their designated jobs.

Swiftly, Arthur peeled away Merlin's sodden cloak and the coat beneath it before moving onto his shirt. Once he had that off he was startled to see the boy's pale skin immediately below. Why on _earth _did he not have more clothes on? Surely, he had not chosen to forgo the clothes that Arthur had sent for him? That was ludicrous; who in their right mind would do that?

"Why does he not have more clothes on?" Arthur asked, slightly angrily. "Is he a complete idiot?"

Segwarides glanced at him with guiltless eyes. "I have no idea, sire, but that probably contributed to his sickness. Also, Merlin is not the strongest of fellows, there isn't an ounce of fat or much muscle on him. It isn't surprising he was affected in such a way."

"Yes," Arthur sighed more to himself, "I should have made sure he was protected better _because _of that. I will ask him why he has a foolish amount of clothes on when he wakes up…if he wakes up."

"I'm sure he will, sire."

Even the prince was beginning to feel the bite of the cold through his many layers and he turned to Morholt and Peregrine. "Where the hell is the fire?"

"My lord, it won't light, the wood is too damp and the wind keeps blowing out whatever flames we _do _manage to ignite."

The situation seemed hopeless and Arthur wanted to hit something but he couldn't because he needed to stay level-headed and strong for his men. They couldn't see him break down over a servant.

The pair of them quickly towelled Merlin's snow-soaked body and felt the shivers emanating from his skin rippling through their hands. He was so damn cold. Arthur fished around in his bag and brought out several clean shirts and slipped Merlin's lifeless arms into them with difficulty. He did the same with the trousers before finally tucking him into a sheepskin sack like a sleepy child being put to bed. Except, Merlin wasn't just sleeping and there was no knowing whether he would wake up.

"The fire! Where the hell is the-?" Arthur was cut short as he yelled at Morholt and Peregrine (who were staring at him in fear) because the fire suddenly jumped into life of its own accord. The flames were soon crackling away noisily in the almost silent cave, throwing shimmering shadows across the old stone walls. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know, my lord," Peregrine replied, anxiously, worried he would be accused of sorcery.

Arthur frowned then shook his head. "There must have been a stray spark that just caught. Thank the gods. Segwarides, help me move Merlin closer to the fire."

The dragged the corpse-like form of the manservant over to the fire and stood there, staring at his thin, pale face which peeped out from inside the sleeping sack. He did look dead with his blue lips and purpled eyelids.

"There's not much more you can do, sire," Erec stated, gravely, "Perhaps, you would eat this food? It will warm us all up and keep our spirits alive."

He handed over a wooden bowl of broth that they'd concocted from the supplies and had been heated unnaturally quickly on the unnatural fire. It seemed to be strangely hotter than normal flames. Arthur took it gratefully and allowed the blessedly warm liquid to slip down into his icy stomach. However, once it got there it seemed to grow heavier, like lead, and make him feel a little nauseous.

Looking over at Merlin, Arthur realised he'd stopped shivering, that had to be a good sign.

"Look, Erec, he's stopped shaking," the prince pointed out, pleased.

He was not pleased by the horrified look that flashed onto Sir Erec's lined face though. The knight was up on his knees and by Merlin in a second. He was feeling for a pulse in the boy's partially exposed neck.

"What is it?" Arthur commanded, "What's wrong?" He felt his heart plummeting into his gut to join the food that was hanging uncomfortably there.

"When the patient stops shivering that means its getting worse. His pulse is almost undetectable; he needs to be warmer!"

"How?" the prince asked, desperately, "How on earth can we make him warmer? This is all we have." He gestured to the clothes and the fire.

"Someone needs to get into the sack with him and give them their body heat - I've seen it done before. It is the only way that he stands a chance."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Of course, sire, what reason would I have not to be?"

"It's just…it doesn't matter. In the sack, you say?"

"Yes."

Slowly, the blond haired man looked round all his knights and saw that none of them made eye contact with him. Each one looked the other way or at their feet. Only Morholt glanced at him but Arthur could tell by the coldness in his irises that he would not take kindly to being asked to share a sack with a servant. Therefore, it would seem the duty fell to him.

"This _never _gets back to Camelot. Understand?" Arthur said, fiercely, casting a warning expression upon each of his men.

Then, with a deep breath, he slipped down beneath the covers of the sleeping sack behind Merlin. He gasped because the boy was still icy to the touch. Shifting to get comfortable, he felt his chest pressed against Merlin's back, feeling the nodules of his spine sticking into him. Although this was so uncomfortable, he was reassured to feel the very gentle rise of the boy's ribs that indicated he was still breathing.

He still felt awkward but the knowledge this was helping his friend kept him there. He even steeled himself and tentatively wrapped his arms around the boy's skinny frame – his body heat seeped into Merlin's skin like water into a sponge. The manservant melded into his embrace and Arthur groaned in disbelief: trust Merlin to make things more embarrassing than they already were.

As the knights went to sleep around him, Arthur finally relaxed into his position and found himself drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Merlin woke and, other than feeling really sluggish, he felt something else around him. A pair of arms. He tensed in confusion as he felt a washboard stomach pressed into his back and the point of someone's chin resting on his shoulder. He could smell them too: cinnamon and leather.

Completely bewildered, he turned in the person's grip and his eyes widened in astonishment when he saw the sleeping face of Arthur Pendragon right beside his.

What the hell….

Quicker than a snake, Merlin slithered out of the sleeping sack and stumbled onto his feet. The disruption seemed to have caused Arthur to wake up and his periwinkle eyes were met with cobalt beneath a mussed blond fringe.

"Arthur…why the hell was I in bed….with _you_?" he squeaked, clutching at clumps of his raven hair in what seemed to be absolute mortification.

"Don't flatter yourself Merlin, it's not what you think," Arthur shook his head; chuckling, relieved to see the boy was alive and seemingly well despite his paleness.

"Thank god, otherwise, I may have had to kill myself," Merlin responded, looking very, very relieved.

**NOT SLASH! Okay! That was all bromance (guy-love in Scrubs terms). Arthur did what he had to do to save Merlin's life, got it?**

**Anyway, now that's cleared up. That was the idea I got so excited about last chapter. It was such a cute image and if I could draw then I would draw it. :)**

**REVIEW PLEASE!**


	12. Out of the Mountains

**Author's Note - Okay, so I know this chapter is pretty damn short after the last two but I had a bit of a battle with writer's block and just wanted to nudge the story on a little more.**

**Also, sorry in advance :) Morholt's just a slimy guy. **

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Concerned!Arthur and Fragile!Merlin**

After his initial rabbit-impression out of the sleeping sack, Merlin seemed to have lost what little energy he still had after his close shave with death. His skin was still deathly white and his blue eyes dull with exhaustion; all his movements were full of lethargy and Arthur couldn't help feel concerned as they left the cave in the morning. He knew that the boy wasn't really in a fit state to travel but they _had _to move on and Merlin had insisted he was 'fine'.

Therefore, as the sun had risen up over the mountains, the group had wolfed down an early breakfast and set about packing up the gear. Arthur had watched as the boy picked disinterestedly at his food and sighed with annoyance at his attitude. He was skinny and weak enough already without making things worse. He recalled the promise he'd made to himself when he'd decided that Merlin wouldn't go malnourished this trip. Hence the fact that he practically forced the meal down the manservant's throat. It was worth it though.

Merlin was still wearing the clothes he'd put him in the night before and the prince was astonished at how much he was, obviously, bigger than the peasant boy. The burgundy shirt hung off him like it would the rail in his wardrobe; angular and pointy. Also, Arthur's shirts were lower cut than Merlin's (even when he wasn't wearing his neckerchief) and now he could see the boy's collarbones and even his ribs plainly sticking out from his chest in small ridges. He was _painfully _thin.

Frowning to himself, Arthur unconsciously gave the manservant a leg up onto his horse – when it really should have been the other way round – and then clambered out onto his own mount. Now that the snow had stopped, they could progress on horseback and he was thoroughly glad for it; he may be fit but even he couldn't continue trudging through endless powder forever. The horses' long legs gave them a distinct advantage in this respect.

Surprisingly, the sky above their heads was now a crisp blue and the sun shone weakly upon the snow-blanketed land – attempting to melt the thick cover but failing dismally. The snow crystals only shimmered in the light rays, glancing colours of the rainbow off in all directions.

Arthur was worried that he would suffer something aptly named 'snow-blindness' that could be caused by gazing at the pure whiteness of the powder for too long. In the end, he decided to keep his eyes as squint as possible and advised his men to do the same.

After a few hours ride, the prince drew up alongside his raven-headed manservant and watched his hair be ruffled by the gentle breeze for a few moments before speaking.

"Merlin…"

"Sire?" The manservant didn't look at him but instead seemed to be observing the scenery up ahead.

"How are you feeling?"

"All right, I suppose," the boy replied, "Just a little tired; my muscles feel so sluggish. I'm sure if you pushed me right now I would just fall straight off my horse." There was the slightest hint of amusement in his weary voice.

Arthur peered at him with concern. "That doesn't sound like the most promising of things to say, Merlin. We can stop if you want?"

"No, I'm fine. We need to keep going if we're ever going to find this egg."

Yes, the egg. What with all that had happened, the prince had almost forgotten all about the actual purpose of their quest: to find and destroy the last dragon egg in existence. It seemed such a distant prospect that he felt a little of the optimism he had harboured previously trickle out of him. What happened if they _never _found the egg? Would he have to continue this fruitless search for the rest of life? It seemed absurd but there was no way he wanted to return to his father empty handed.

"Merlin, I was meaning to ask you before but I forgot what with the packing up of camp and everything. Anyway, it was about what happened…"

"Yes?" Merlin watched him expectantly.

"Well, I was wondering why on earth you were such thick-skulled that you saw fit to come up into the _mountains _with little more than you wear in bloody summer?"

Merlin stared at him for a moment, considering. There was a small crease in the bow of his forehead, between his eyebrows, as if he were in deep concentration. His lips were pulled tightly into a single line.

Finally, he spoke, "What more _was _I to wear? I already told you that all the clothes I own in the world were a few shirts. It's not like a have a handy travelling wardrobe with me like you seem to have." His voice was laced with a hint of bitterness.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur frowned, bemused, "I sent the winter clothes to you with Morholt when he went to fetch you."

As soon as Merlin heard the name 'Morholt' he instantly understood what had occurred. His stomach clenched uneasily. He had known that the tan skinned knight disliked him but he hadn't realised to the extent that he actually wanted to _kill _him. Obviously, he wasn't unused to people attempting to take his life (Nimueh to name one) but to do so in such a devious, underhand way was so….wrong. What Morholt had done was dishonourable but what on earth could he do about it?

He let out a deep sigh. "Well, obviously, they never reached me." Arching a dark eyebrow, Merlin looked meaningfully at his master.

It took the prince a second to figure out what his servant meant but when he did his face became a blank mask of anger. The muscle jumped in his strong jaw.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying, Merlin?" he asked, quietly.

"Sire, I don't know. I don't want to accuse anyone of anything," Merlin replied in an evasive way.

"Merlin…" Arthur said, warningly.

"Well, what do you want me to say? That I think that Morholt deliberately withheld the clothes from me because he hates my guts and wants me dead?"

Arthur's eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"

He couldn't believe that his trusted knight would want harm to come to his servant. It didn't make sense. Morholt was a good man; a skilled fighter, he had no reason to want to hurt Merlin in such a way. And yet, in the past, Arthur had learnt (the hard way) that the ash-haired boy had a truthful tongue – he wasn't often wrong, in fact, was he ever wrong? The prince tried to remember a time but for now I could not remember one.

Still….it seemed _so _unlikely.

"Merlin, I can't go around accusing my knights of things that aren't founded. I'm their leader and I'm meant to trust them with my life. What kind of prince does it make me if I punish Morholt and I discover it was a misunderstanding?"

"Misunderstanding my elbow," Merlin muttered, darkly.

Arthur observed him for a time, weighing up his options. Although he didn't want to ruin the trust he had between himself and Morholt, he didn't want to ignore his servant and upset him – not when he was in this fragile state. Perhaps, he could just have a quiet word with the knight; see his side of the story.

"Right, I'll be back in a bit, Merlin," Arthur nodded, mostly to himself. Then he added, with a smirk, "And try not to fall off your horse whilst I'm gone."

"I'll try but I'm not the most balanced person at the best of times."

* * *

Morholt watched the golden haired prince approaching him out of the corner of his eye. He pretended to be occupied with fiddling with his horse's head collar but all the while he observed and waited. To be honest, the young man did not look particularly happy and, considering he had just been speaking with Merlin, that did not bode well for him. He bet the little weasel had ratted him out. That was the problem with servants; they had no inner core, no strength to endure. Instead, they just went running to their master and had them sort it out for them like the snivelling cowards they were.

He was prepared though; he wasn't about to let the slave-boy shift his position in _this _group. He _owned _this group. Even Arthur he had wrapped round his little finger. It was strange how one so skilled and so high in society could be so gullible and unobservant. Still, that only served to work to his advantage.

Ever since he was a small boy, Morholt had been an actor, a manipulator, a liar. His talents at the art of deception had been honed over the last twenty or so years. Not once had he been denied what he wanted; not once had he not got his own way and he wasn't about to break tradition now. Especially, not because of some mulish peasant boy.

He smiled brightly as he saw the fellow approach and acted as if nothing was wrong in the world.

"Good morning, sire," he greeted the prince. "How are you? And how is Merlin? I hope he is improved?"

Arthur looked slightly taken aback. "Oh, yeah, he's still a bit weak but I think he's getting better. He's making jokes after all."

"Good," Morholt's fake smile increased. "Was there anything you wanted, sire?"

"Er…" Arthur paused, looking awkward as he scratched the back of his head. Morholt knew immediately that Merlin had told him. The _weasel_! "I've…er….come to talk to you about a bit of a delicate topic. You see, my manservant has…how do I put this….accused you of keeping back the clothes that I gave you to give to him…"

Ooh, he was going to pay for this. The little grass. Morholt smiled grimly to himself and looked at the gently undulating shoulder blades on his horse's pitch black back. Its coat was shining in the harsh sunshine.

"I don't understand, my lord?" Morholt affected innocence, his chocolate brown eyes melting into confusion.

"Merlin thinks that you deliberately didn't give him the rest of the clothes and therefore caused him to get hypothermia. I'm not sure why he believes you had some kind of vendetta against him but he seems quite vehement."

Morholt managed to look horrified and bewildered at the same time. Quite an achievement, even for him, the master of artificial emotions.

"Why, sire?!" His voice rose in pitch. "Surely, you don't believe his words? I mean, I could never do such a thing. It is abominable, disgusting and downright dishonourable. It is against the knight's code to harm those less fortunate than ourselves."

Arthur nodded, as if confirming something. "I guess there was a misunderstanding because I _did _give you those winter clothes."

"Of course but I thought you told me to give them to Merlin to return to the villagers. You see, not wanting to offend or anything, but I didn't realise that you would be giving extra clothes to a servant." He shrugged as if it was an offhand comment. "Anyway, I thought I'd save him the job and do it myself. I didn't know where the moleskin coat was from so I thought that I'd give it to him as a kind gesture. I truly am sorry."

"You thought that I'd send my servant out with _nothing_?" Arthur asked, incredulously. He wondered whether that was how everyone viewed him, so heartless that he wouldn't even properly equip his servant? Instantly, guilt and shame welled up inside him.

Morholt looked sheepish. "I'm ashamed to say I did, sire. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Arthur shook his head and turned away; "I should have been more clear with my instructions. It's just a good thing Merlin survived. Perhaps, that old coat you gave him even saved his life."

The young prince veered his horse away slightly, trotting away from the group in order to be alone with his thoughts. He looked deep in contemplation.

Morholt watched him with a pitying expression. _So gullible_.

* * *

_There was the sound of roaring. There was the sound of thunder…no, it wasn't thunder; it was the stamping of hundreds of feet and the clapping of hundreds of hands that merged together into a tumultuous noise. And then there was screaming. _

_Scarlet. _

_Blood. _

_Splashed across the ground like a gruesome piece of artwork, mingling with the sand and staining it dark. A metallic tang hung in the air, cloying in the mouth and stinging the nostrils. _

_And there was a pair of startling blue eyes – the colour of an indigo night. Piercing and intense and utterly distraught. _

_The roaring started again and the screaming still hadn't stopped. _

A dark-headed figure sat up, bolt-upright, in bed, her covers pooling around her stomach and her breast heaving. She felt like she'd run in a race: her heart was pounding and her breathing came in short sharp gasps. Wide, blue eyes were laced with tears.

Gently, she placed a slender, cream hand on her chest in an attempt to calm herself and gulped in several lungfuls of air. With her other hand, she wiped the cold sweat that peppered her dignified brow.

That dream had been absolutely terrifying: so vivid and grotesque. She could still picture the wine-red blood and the cobalt eyes; they would haunt her nightmares for many nights yet to come.

* * *

It was a relief when the travelling group finally descended from the mountainous range. The horses' legs were able to find relaxation on the soft springy turf rather than the hard rocky paths and because the surface was no longer steep to walk on their calves and thighs no longer ached.

Finally, they had reached Italy.

The countryside spread out in front of them, as far as the eye could see. The colours seemed faded, like an old tapestry – worn and waning. Naked trees twisted out of the ground like loose threads and the bald patches of earth were like moth-eaten, shabby areas of cloth. With the snow threatening to fall once more, the sky was a pale white: ghostly and washed-out.

Merlin looked at the pallid world and sighed with disappointment. To be honest, he'd been hoping to be met with rich variety of colours, splashes of greens, reds, yellows, so that he wouldn't have to be reminded of the whiteness of the snow that nearly claimed his life. He'd always thought of Italy as some distant land full of vibrancy and flavour but, in all truthfulness, he could just be looking at Britain right now.

There was even a flock of sheep grazing quietly in the field a few hundred metres away. The shepherd that guarded them lay under a gnarled tree, his face rough with stubble and lined with exhaustion. Merlin was surprised, he always though shepherds led a peaceful, stress free life. It would seem not.

"'The sheep are all so blasé about it, aren't they?"

Turning to his right, the young man's gaze fell upon Arthur who was sitting strikingly on his horse, staring out at the land.

"About what?" Merlin looked puzzled.

"The fact we've _finally _arrived."

"I suppose you could say that," Merlin laughed and shook his head.

He still hadn't quite forgiven his master for allowing Morholt off the hook but he understood that the knight had a very persuasive tongue. Arthur always tried to trust his men and Merlin knew, despite all they'd been through, he was unlikely to take the word of a servant over a nobleman's; no matter how often he was right. That was, unfortunately, just how the world worked. Without such hierarchy their society would undoubtedly fall apart at the seams – the peasants depended upon their rulers to make sure they were safe and the rulers depended on the peasants to be law-abiding and hard-working.

Merlin dreamed of a change but he was one of very few. Not many villagers wished for anything more than a warm home and a comfortable family. They didn't strive for money or power or equality. A simple life was all that was needed to keep them happy.

That was just one of the ways in which the raven-headed warlock differed from the norm. Ever since he was a toddler, he was never one to bow to authority; even his mother's rules seemed to be there, ready-made, to be broken. If she told the little boy not to wander off then you could be certain that Merlin would be lost in the woods within minutes. And if he was told not to put his hand in a pail of boiling water…then he would and he had the faint scars on his hands to prove it.

It was not surprising, therefore, that he grew restless in the small community of Ealdor. If his magic hadn't forced him to leave then he probably would have anyway. He tended to be a sucker for adventure. This rebellious streak was not left behind, hence his initial rocky relationship with his master.

It wasn't a wonder, really, that Arthur didn't quite believe him now.

Just a shame.

**Aha! Sorry, I had to use the whole blase line because Bradley James did on his road trip with Colin and it made me laugh a lot. :) **

**Sorry for allowing Morholt to be a continual scheming git but its part of the fun of the story. Just think, it will be even more fun when Arthur finds out ;)**


	13. Getting a Bit Drunk

**Author's Note - Thank you soooo much for all the reviews. I got about ten within the first hour of updating. It made me smile - a lot.**

**You know, I'm very glad you guys don't want to lynch me for allowing Morholt to survive yet another round. Some of you even told me he was a great villain and that makes me very, very happy! Thank you!**

**Okay, so this chapter is mainly fluff, banter and a drunk!Arthur. :D However, I have to warn you of the cliff at the end so watch your footing!**

**To those of you requesting Arthur bashing, don't you get enough of it on the show? There is a distinct lack of Merlin bashing in the BBC series so that's why my fic contains a lot of it. That, and I like Arthur being concerned and worried and Merlin being in trouble. He's so cute when he's in trouble. **

**Anyway, there could be some Merlin **_**and **_**Arthur bashing coming next chapter. :D**

**_Latin - _**

**_mendax - liar_**

**_tabernus - inn/pub_**

**_assinus - donkey/ass_**

**_pasca - alcoholic beverage that lower class Roman's used to drink. Its essentially watered down wine._**

A pair of ash-headed children scurried through the village, their skin a soft tan colour and their limbs gangly and unruly. They were whooping and shouting in an excitable manner as a maniacal little white dog yipped at their heels. Both were dressed scantily for the weather in deer-skin tunics and beaten leather boots – skinny bare arms exposed to the elements.

They dodged past a group of chattering girls, whose long dark hair was tangled with braids and ribbons, and leapt over a stall selling terracotta pots, almost knocking over a particularly large urn in the process. The stall owner shouted at them, furiously, but he was ignored as the flurry of bodies whipped by.

It was a race.

Neither of them wanted to be the loser, they wouldn't hear the end of it. They both _had _to win. It was a matter of honour to them; not just a childish competition. One child edged ahead, skirting around an old woman who sat whining in her stone doorway, a piece of cloth clutched in her gnarled, bird-like hands, and his eyes honed in on the tree that stood a little outside the settlement. That was the finishing post.

Putting on a spurt of speed, he dashed across the frosted turf and….

Collided, solidly, with a horse's broad side. The animal gave a snort of disdain and turned round to glare at the insolent human with massive, amber eyes. Sitting in the dirt, his backside stinging from the impact with the hard earth, the boy observed his friend touch the tree with a triumphant grin. He had lost. Again!

Running a dejected hand through his messy hair, the boy glowered at the towering beast as if it was its personal fault he had lost the race. Which, of course, it was. If it hadn't been standing there then he would have most certainly won. Stupid animal.

"Watch where you are going, boy." A man appeared from around the horse's head, his eyes cold and angry. "You could have damaged the horse."

The boy stared at him, uncomprehending, his own brown eyes pools of naked fear. He could tell immediately that the man was a foreigner and a warrior; judging by the words he spoke and the sharp sword that hung in his scabbard. The boy had never met a foreign man but he had heard of them. This one looked utterly terrifying with his fierce face and muscular frame. He remembered what his friend, Quintus, had told him about men from distant lands: they didn't like the locals. He scrambled back.

"Are you going to apologise, impertinent fool?"

The scarred man was advancing and the boy felt his heart flutter in his chest. He felt sick with terror. This man was going to kill him. Look, there his hand went to scabbard.

_I'm going to die_, he thought, closing his eyes.

"_Morholt_!" The voice was sharp and commanding. Cracking his eyes open, the boy caught sight of a tall figure with golden blond hair, the colour of ripe wheat and a stature that the boy could only liken to that of a god.

He stared in awe.

"Morholt, what is the meaning of this?"

"Sire!" the fellow's tone was honeyed and sickly. Despite not knowing what he was saying, the boy knew immediately that he was about to lie. He had good intuition when it came to spotting a _mendax_. Liar. "The boy crashed into my horse. I was trying to help him up…" He gestured to the outstretched hand which he had actually been planning to strike with. "But I think he is afraid of me. He doesn't speak English."

"Of course not…we're in Italy, are we not?" Arthur replied, smartly.

Carefully, approaching the fallen child the way he would a frightened horse, the golden haired god held up his hands, palm upward and looked encouragingly at him. All the youngster could do was stare at him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, gently, "I just want to check you are all right."

The boy wanted to understand him. He really did. But the foreign words just washed over him and he did not know what a single one meant. Still, the god-man was speaking to him; was coming closer as if he was going to touch him. He tensed with excitement. Wait until he told Quintus about this.

"Sire!" The voice was loud and full of energy. Everyone jumped. A young man bounded over to them, his cerulean blue eyes bright. "Sire, I caught this boy trying to steal…oh, there's another one." His gaze fell upon the fallen child.

"Steal? Steal what?" Arthur asked, curiously.

"He was searching around in your saddlebags. I don't know exactly what he wanted but he tried to bolt when I appeared."

"Everyone tries to bolt when you appear," the prince quipped, grinning. "It must be something to do with that ugly thing you call a face."

"Ooh," the raven-headed man mimed an arrow striking him in the heart, theatrically throwing his head back in pain, "That _hurt_."

"Not as much as it pains me to have you as my manservant."

"Meh," the other man shrugged, allowing the comment to slide over him like water off a duck's back, "I let him go considering he didn't take anything. Has this one been stealing too?"

"No, he ran into Morholt's horse."

The boy watched the exchange between the two men with curious eyes, wondering what on earth they could speaking about. They seemed rather at ease talking to one another, if their body language and expressions were anything to go by. The boy pondered whether the man with hair as black as pitch could also be a god, sent to save him from this evil warrior.

When their gaze fell on him, however, his heart stopped beating with fear and excitement.

"Merlin, any chance you can speak Italy-ish?" Arthur asked his manservant, hopefully.

Merlin quirked an eyebrow, as if amused. "Sire, in Italy they speak Latin. And no, I was never taught Latin. Perhaps it was _something _to do with my _upbringing_. However, there really should be some people here who should be able to speak it considering they had a tutor and an education at great expense."

"How many times, Merlin, you know I never listen," Arthur smirked. "I guess we're stuck then."

The young man shot a look at his master and shook his head. Slowly, he strode over to the boy who sat on his rump like an incompetent toddler. His expression was kind. Instantly, the youth felt himself trusting him.

He watched as he raised a hand to his chest. "Merlin."

That must be his name.

Tentatively, he touched his own chest. "Amedeo."

"Nice to meet you, Amedeo. That's Prince Arthur Pendragon."

All of a sudden, the boy froze, his eyes grew impossibly wide and he scrambled hastily to his feet. The blind terror had returned to his face as he stared at Arthur. _Artorius_. The bear. Oh no. This was written in the stars, had been for centuries; his grandfather had foretold the coming of _Artorius _ever since he was small. He had to go. _Now. _

Without so much as backward glance, Amedeo shot across the grass and vanished among the huts.

"That was strange," Merlin commented, drily.

"Hmm…" Arthur nodded. A frown of concern passed across his features. "You know, men, I don't think we should stop here. Let's move on to the next village."

* * *

The _tabernus _was warm and inviting, a haven from the wintery weather that was assaulting the world outside. The building itself was made of a mixture of timber and stone that stood strong against the wind and snow that buffeted the walls and rattled the windows. It was very busy inside, the hustle and bustle of an evening in Genua settling in as the punters drowned their sorrows and celebrated their triumphs in ale and wine.

Two fires crackled merrily at either end of the crowded room and a series of benches and chairs littered the place – interspersed with a rare table or two – where groups had gathered. It was a free-for-all when it came to seating. Up at the bar, several already sodden young men were insisting they were served more drinks and flirting outrageously with the girl that stood behind the counter. Her expression was one of wise indifference as she tucked a mahogany strand of hair behind her ear.

"Love, ya know ya wanna give us a kiss! Go on! I wanna taste them pretty lips of yours."

"Shut up, Marius," the girl snapped, tossing away the arm that had groped for her shoulder.

"Aw….ya so sweet when you're cross."

"Go _away_, you drunken _assinus_."

"Now, now, Flavia." He reached across once more, trying to grab her breast.

However, before he could reach, his arm was knocked away by a hard fist and he yelped in pain, almost falling over in the process. Wild eyes searched around him for the perpetrator of such an offensive gesture. His gaze fell upon a broad shouldered man with a halo of blond hair and a grim expression on his face.

"I think you're done here, sir," he said, enunciating each of his words firmly. "Leave the lady alone."

Marius stared at him, not understanding a word of what was being said to him but he got the gist. The sword that hung at the man's hip persuaded him that it _was _probably a good time to scarper. He'd be back though; one day Flavia would be his.

"You're English," the woman said, slowly.

The man seemed to jump in surprise and his cobalt blue eyes widened with something akin to relief.

"You speak my language?"

"Quite well," she replied, "We have a lot of travellers in Genua; some of them are from England."

"Oh, right," he smiled and she felt the breath catch in her throat. He was very handsome. "Well, I too am travelling. To Rome in fact, with my party over there."

He gestured to where Morholt was usurping several men from their seats with a roughness that came with being a knight. One of them tried to protest but one glare and a twitching of fingers over a pommel was enough to have him fleeing for his life. The group seemed to settle down.

"_Roma_, I was born there," the woman smiled, in return, "My name is Flavia, by the way."

"Arthur," the man replied; he seemed somewhat wary of giving out his name but when Flavia didn't react, he looked pleased. His shoulders relaxed, the rigidity seeping from them. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The stared at each other for a moment and then Flavia blushed – rose tinting her creamy skin.

"Would you like a drink?"

Arthur coughed, uncomfortably. "Yes, do you have mead?"

"Yes, or would you prefer _pasca_?"

Arthur was unfamiliar with the name so he shook his head. "No, mead is fine. Seven bottles, please."

Once he had been served, the prince shot the pretty Italian girl a charming grin and strode over to his friends, taking a seat beside Segwarides. The bench wasn't particularly comfortable but after sitting up in a saddle for hours on end it was a relief. He stretched tight muscles and yawned.

"Tired, my lord?" Segwarides asked, smiling.

"Aren't we all?" He took a swig of his bottle and sighed in contentment. This had been a good idea, to drop in at an inn whilst they were in Genua. It gave them a chance to relax and recuperate before the next leg of their journey.

"Hey, how come I don't get a drink?" Merlin's voice piped up from across the table. He looked thoroughly disappointed.

"Because, Merlin, you are our designated-sober-person."

"Designated what?"

"Sober person. We can't _all _be drunk and therefore I volunteered on your behalf for you to not have alcohol."

"But…"

"It's merely for protection, Merlin."

"Then, surely, one of your knights should do it?" Merlin grumbled.

"I trust _you_," Arthur replied, lazily, gulping down another swig of mead.

Merlin frowned. "I'm not sure I want you to trust me, if this is what I get from it. Besides, you didn't trust me about Morholt."

"_Merlin_," Arthur growled, throwing him a warning look, "Shut up."

He turned to Peregrine before the disgruntled manservant could reply and began a discussion with him about the advantages of a curved sword over a straight one.

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"It's all right, Merlin," Segwarides grinned at him, "Once he's inebriated enough, he won't notice if I slip you a couple of bottles."

Merlin's expression lit up. "You'd do that for me…?" Suddenly, his face clouded with suspicion. "Why? Is this a trick because if you think…?"

"_Relax_, Merlin. You're so paranoid. I'm trying to be friendly here. Loosen up."

_Its hard to loosen up when your master's life could be in mortal peril at any given moment and if you so much as let slip that you can do magic or even allude to it then your head will be on the chopping block quicker than you can say "Sorry, Arthur! I'm a good guy – honestly!" _Merlin thought, wryly, but he held his tongue.

"Why do you want to be friends with me _now_?" he finally asked, "I mean, last time you said we would be and then you just deserted me."

"Yeah, I truly am sorry about that," Seg looked suitably guilty.

"I was almost thrown off the ship," Merlin pointed out.

"It wouldn't have come to that."

"Oh, really? What _exactly _would have stopped Morholt from chucking me into the water to be supper for the fishes? It wasn't like you guys were going to help."

"Arthur of course."

"He _may _not have turned up in time," Merlin stated.

"No, I knew he would. He seems to have some kind of sixth sense when it seems you're in danger. I swear."

Hmm…Merlin pondered what Segwarides had said. Arthur always did seem to turn up in the nick of time and save his life. However, he wasn't the only one who had the benefit of this 'sixth sense'. Merlin often found himself feeling a strange sensation in his gut whenever the prince was in trouble, even if he wasn't anywhere nearby. It was like they could sense each other's trouble. Must be something to do with the two sides of coin thing, he concluded.

"Good thing too, or I'd be a goner," the manservant smiled.

"Yeah, you do seem to attract a hell of a lot of trouble for a serving boy."

"It's a gift."

The servant and the knight continued to talk companionably for the next few hours as the rest of their group grew drunker and drunker on the incredible amount of mead, _pasca _and beer they had consumed. It was a wonder they weren't passed out on the floor. Well, the slight, inexperienced Tristram was snoring gently on the shoulder of Sir Peregrine as the red-head challenged Arthur to a playful arm-wrestle.

When the blond eventually won, he turned over to the chatting pair and smiled at them with dazed blue eyes.

"Stop nattering away like a pair of mother hens," he slurred, rubbing a hand down his face in a lame attempt to alert himself. It didn't work.

"What do you want us to do then, Arthur?" Merlin asked, amicably. He eyed the way the prince was leaning dangerously to one side, as if he was about to fall off the end of the bench at any moment.

"Talk. To. Me," he commanded, weakly. "They're all _l-light -weights_." Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he gestured to where the rest of the knights had finally succumbed to the warmth of the alcohol and fallen asleep. "M'bored."

"You should probably sleep too, sire," Segwarides stated, carefully. "You look very tired."

"Nah, m'fine. Hey, Merlin, why d'you have two heads?"

"Last time I checked, sire, I didn't." Merlin chuckled as his master frowned in confusion.

"No, I'm _sure _you do," Arthur replied, stubbornly, like a petulant child. He reached out with splayed fingers, bumping clumsily into an empty bottle and knocking it over. It rolled across the sticky wooden surface to be caught by Segwarides before it hit the floor and smashed. "N-nice catch, Seg."

"He's stealing my nickname," Merlin said, indignantly. Segwarides laughed.

"It's a good nickname."

"Hmph…whoa, Arthur you all right?" he yelped, suddenly, as the blond man swayed in particularly violent manner. His hand reached out and grabbed the prince's muscular arm.

"Jus' fine, Merlin." He paused, staring at Merlin for a long moment. "Why is the earth shaking?"

"Its not…its…er…you," Segwarides said, delicately.

Arthur looked puzzled. "Don't be stupid. Merlin, tell him he's being stupid."

Merlin shrugged at Segwarides, looking helpless. They both shared an amused chuckle.

"What you two laffin' abou'?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, you were. You can't just laugh about nothin'"

"Merlin said something funny," Seg replied.

Arthur nodded, slowly. "Merlin is funny."

The manservant in question blinked. His mouth fell open slightly in shock. Then he turned to Segwarides with a massive grin on his face.

"Do you hear that, Seg? Arthur actually admitted I'm funny! He paid me a _compliment_."

"Sorry, Merlin but I don't think it counts," Segwarides laughed, "He's too drunk to mean _anything _he says. It's all rubbish."

"Aw….don't take this away from me. He's not that much out of it-"

"I love you, Merlin, you know that?" Arthur suddenly piped up.

Merlin spluttered with laughter. "All right, so he _is_."

"Not in a love a girl way…" the prince continued, oblivious to his servant's amusement, "No, that's just _weird_."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"But I do care about you."

"Of course you do," Merlin lurched over to the man just as he wobbled to his feet. "I don't think you should be walking, sire, you're a bit…." He wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol that emanated from the man. Perhaps, it _was _a good thing he hadn't had anything to drink. "Drunk."

"Nah, not drunk."

He attempted to bat his concerned servant away, swatting him as easily as he would a fly. Merlin reeled backward and hit the stone wall – feeling the rough stone digging into his back. Cor, the knight didn't know his own strength when he was this drunk. He would have to be careful. Approaching the man again, this time more carefully, he grabbed hold of his arm.

"Sit, my lord."

"I don't want…whoa!"

The prince stumbled, clutching at his mouth as he suddenly halted in his tracks. His face was a violent shade of green.

"I think I'm gonna be sick…" he mumbled, staggering.

"Come on then, I don't think they'd appreciate that inside here. I mean, that girl you were chatting up at the bar wouldn't be best pleased, would she? And you don't want to ruin your chances."

"No…" Arthur groaned.

Merlin was practically taking all his weight now as he manoeuvred the heavier man towards the door. He was imagining the cold of outside and not looking forward to it. However, considering they were planning on staying the night in this place it wouldn't make a very good impression if Arthur vomited all over the floor. Cringing, as his master began to retch, his body convulsing, Merlin increased his pace.

"Do you want a hand, Merlin?" Segwarides questioned, worriedly.

"No, I'm fine. You get the others up to the rooms that Arthur got and we'll be back soon." He glanced at Arthur's pasty face. "Hopefully."

The ice cold air hit him like a battering ram and he gasped, feeling tears spring to his eyes. Fighting to squeeze are into his lungs, Merlin led Arthur over to a spot by the inn pump where he could use the water to wash the man up afterwards. Maybe, the freezing water would also serve to wake him up a bit and knock some sense into him.

Arthur had collapsed onto his knees and was coughing and spluttering as he was sick on the cold turf. His body trembled as he threw up all the alcohol he'd drunk that evening. Although it was his own fault that he'd got into such a state, Merlin couldn't help feel sorry for him.

Bending down and bracing himself against the acidic stench of his master's vomit, Merlin rubbed his back, hoping it would help. The _things _he did as a servant. It was ridiculous.

"You feeling better?" he queried as the heaving seemed to come to a stop.

"A bit," Arthur mumbled, miserably.

"You shouldn't have drunk so much then, should you?" Merlin retorted, unforgiving.

Arthur had been about to give a witty reply but his stomach rebelled once more and he retched again. Hot, sulphur-like liquid gushed onto the ground. That was disgusting – it was actually steaming in the cold air.

Making a face, Merlin lifted his head away from the mess and gathered himself to his feet.

"I'll just get some water from the pump."

He was just leaning over to pick up the bucket when he felt a presence behind him.

"Arthur, there's no need to sneak up on me – oof!"

A blunt object connected with the back of his skull and, in blinding pain, he crumpled on the floor.

**And its **_**really **_**not who you think it is. Morholt is having a little rest. **


	14. Rescue Attempt

**Author's Note - Wow, record number of reviews for last chapter. Thankies a lot guys. **

**Sorry, though, if you are finding that the plot has lost a bit of focus when it comes to actually finding the Dragon Egg. That's kind of intentional because what with all the crap going on Arthur and Merlin are bound to lose track a bit. And I am planning on getting the Sphinx's slip of the tongue in there somewhere soon. You will see the story gain a bit more focus after this chapter and the next. **

**I will try and put some more POVs in from the castle back home as well, for those that have asked. Probs the dragon, Uther and Gaius. All worrying 'fathers'. **

When Arthur woke up, he found he had a splitting headache – as if some crazed axe-man had sliced his skull in two. His eyes wouldn't cooperate and neither would his limbs. He just felt heavy, as if weighed down by something lying on his chest, and very, very tired. Attempting to sit up, he found the headache intensify and a groan seeped from his dry lips; perhaps, he could just remain lying down for the rest of his life so he didn't have to experience so much pain.

But he was just so thirsty. His throat was burning and his mouth felt like a desert.

Trying again, this time doing it more slowly to avoid the unpleasant head-rush, the young man pulled himself into the upright position. Blearily, he looked around him. He was in a small room and there was faint sunlight trickling in from a high up window. The space was painted white and was very bare – from what he could see only a bed and a small chest were all that occupied it.

How had he got here? He didn't remember a thing; just drinking himself into oblivion. There were no memories, no details from the previous night coming to mind. He _really _shouldn't have got that drunk. In fact, he didn't think he'd had so much alcohol in all his life; it had practically saturated his body.

Grunting, he hauled himself off the hard, narrow bed and let out another agonized groan as the world tilted. He staggered; only his knight's sense of balance and reflexes saving him from ending up face down on the floorboards. Cursing colourfully, he stumbled over to the chest of drawers to find something to wear. However, when he opened it, it was empty with just a few cobwebs floating around in the bottom. With a frown, he realised Merlin hadn't brought his clothes to his bedroom. Damn him, where was he?

"Merlin!" he yelled. Usually, that summoned the boy to his chambers in an instant – as if the manservant was just waiting outside ready to appear. This time, though, Merlin didn't poke his head round the door and grin goofily at him. He didn't even appear to _insult _him! Frowning, he called again, "Merlin? Merlin, where the hell are you, you bumpkin?"

There was no answer. Strange. He could have sworn he'd arranged the quarters so that his manservant would have the room next to him in case he needed anything. Surely, even the inherently deaf-eared Merlin would have heard his bellows?

Something was up. He sensed it immediately.

Suddenly feeling quite lucid, Arthur strode purposefully from his room, knocking the wooden door noisily on the wall as he went. He went next door first and found a completely deserted room and a bed that hadn't been slept in. Feeling the concern mounting in his stomach, the young man marched downstairs and searched the seating area of the inn. There were only a few patrons slouched about the place, sipping at warm wine from chipped bone-cups. They seemed to be suffering the effects of the previous night just as much as the prince.

His quick, blue eyes immediately sought out his group of knights who were slumped in one corner, a platter of food between them. Trying not to look too anxious, the blond haired man walked over and cleared his throat.

"Er…men, about last night," he began.

"We won't speak of it again, sire!" Tristram jumped in eagerly, his baby blue eyes shining with promise.

Arthur scowled. "I wasn't talking about the drunkenness. I was talking about Merlin."

"It's always about, Merlin," Morholt muttered, darkly, under his breath. He received a sharp look from the prince but he was certain he couldn't have overheard.

"Have any of you seen him this morning?"

He received a complete set of shaking heads. This was getting worse by the second.

"He went out with you last night, sire, when you were being…" Segwarides blushed slightly, "Ill. I came to check on you but you seemed to have made it inside and were in bed. I assumed Merlin had put you there but, come to think of it, I didn't actually _see _him." He looked extremely guilty.

"So, you didn't see him come in last night?"

"No."

"Then where on earth is he?" Arthur said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Perhaps, he's just left?" Morholt suggested, hopefully.

"Merlin wouldn't just _leave_. We must look for him," Arthur demanded, heading towards the door, "We will search the whole city if we have to but he's not getting away from me that easily."

* * *

When _Merlin _woke up, his head exploded with pain and he gasped in shock. He could taste the sickly tang of blood in his mouth and the sting of his tongue where he must have bitten it when he was knocked out. Groggily, he blinked open his eyes and winced at the light that flooded them; his pupils contracted abruptly until they were all but pinpricks.

What had happened to him?

He tried levering himself off the ground and felt something strange beneath his fingertips, the earth was shifting fluidly beneath his sensitive pads. Attempting to focus on the unfamiliar surface he realised, with a start, that he was laying on sand. Still tasting the blood on his lips, he spit a long trail of syrupy black on the floor. Suddenly desperate to know where he was, the boy sat up, ignoring the pitiful protests of his battered head and looked around him with curious and fearful eyes.

Essentially, he was in a prison. He recognised this from the wooden bars that stood on one side of the space. The other three walls were made of stone – a dark, grey stone that looked very different from the stuff they used back in Camelot. It was encrusted with years of dirt and scum. Unnervingly, there was a greasy stain splashed up one wall that looked suspiciously like blood.

Speaking of blood, Merlin reached round the back of his head and felt something sticky matting his hair. He gingerly pressed at the wound with delicate fingers, feeling how much damage had occurred. He winced as he caught tender skin and hissed between his teeth.

Looking at his trembling fingers, he saw they were soaked with the crimson liquid. That was just great – it wasn't a wonder that his skull felt like a cracked egg.

Why had someone done this to him? He was even more of an anonymous, nondescript person here than he was in Camelot. What could anybody want with him? And he hadn't committed any crimes as far as he could remember and so there should be no reason for him to be locked up. It didn't make sense. The fact he could work out the puzzle was probably not helped by his oozing head-wound.

"He's in here." The voice came from nowhere and Merlin leapt to his feet, his fists clenching at his sides. Whoever had done this to him was going to pay. Dearly.

"I'll only buy him off you if he's not in a bad condition. He won't last as long otherwise."

_What are they saying? _Merlin thought, wishing he understood Latin.

"He has a wound to his head but he should be fine. No lasting damage. Why does it matter anyway? I mean, they hardly need to be _fighting _fit."

There was no reply. Instead, two figures appeared round the corner. Both were dressed in dark blue tunics but one had slightly more embroidery on his than the other and he was a bit more muscular. This suggested to Merlin that he was perhaps higher in society.

They stepped out of the shadows and he immediately studied their faces. One had russet coloured hair and the other dark brown and both had beards, thick and bushy. He could tell that one was older than the other and more battle-weary by the looks of the scars that marred his face and neck.

"Is this him, Calladus?" The older man asked, scrutinising Merlin as if he were a piece of meat. "He's a bit skinny; more of a skeleton than a boy."

"He's off the street," Calladus shrugged. "I can't help what I find. Do you want him or not?"

The dark haired man stared at the boy standing in the cage for a long moment. Merlin was being judged, he could tell. In resistance, he glared back with fierce blue eyes and straightened his stance so he didn't look like he was cowering. There was no way that he would be viewed as a weakling.

"Hmm…there's some spirit in him," the man smiled, his teeth glinting like shark's teeth in the candlelight. "He'll be worth a watch, I suppose. I'll take him. How much?"

"Twenty-five _denarii_," Calladus replied, pleased.

"Twenty and we have a deal."

"Twenty-four," Calladus said, stubbornly.

Merlin was suddenly aware that he was being bargained for and he didn't like it one little bit. He was not an item! He was not a slave! Morholt _had _to be behind this, he knew it.

"Twenty-two."

"Fine."

"Nice doing business with you. My men will pick him up later."

* * *

They felt liked they'd searched every nook and every cranny in the entire city of Genua: searching through deserted alleyways, fighting through crowds in the forum and even venturing into several shops to see if they could find the missing manservant anywhere. And yet, they still hadn't discovered him.

Arthur kept getting images of Merlin sprawled, beaten and bloody, in some deserted street where no one was there to help him whilst Segwarides couldn't help remember Morholt's words from earlier in their journey. He had said that he would try and sell Merlin as a slave – not that he was accusing the knight - but what if Merlin had indeed ended up in the hands of a slave trader? That really didn't bode well for any of them.

So when they all gathered once again in the city centre and found that no one else had found the serving boy, their hearts felt leaden. Arthur couldn't believe he'd been so drunk as to let his friend be stolen away from him. Some prince and protector he was if he just let one of his servants be taken from beneath his nose whilst he vomited in the gutter. He felt disgusted at himself.

Because he was feeling so guilty at losing a comrade, he counted the heads of his assembled men and realised that one was missing. Oh gods, no, he couldn't have lost another one, could he?

"Where's Tristram?" he demanded, urgently.

All the knights looked around them as if the young man would suddenly pop out of thin air and declare 'Surprise'. Unfortunately, that was not the case. This seemed to frighten them all slightly, it was one thing for a peasant boy to be snatched but for a knight….perhaps, things were getting serious after all.

"Sire!"

The trill voice of Tristram, that was usually such an irritation, caused a collective sigh of relief among the men as they saw him sprinting towards them. His pale blond hair trailed out behind him.

"Sire! I have found, Merlin."

He skidded to a halt, suddenly aware that all eyes were trained on him. The prince's cobalt eyes seemed especially intense. As much as he wished to quail under the attention, he knew that it was a cowardly and childish thing to do and he would not succumb to his fear. He was a knight of Camelot; not some snivelling five year old.

"Where, Tristram?" Arthur asked, sharply. "Why is he not with you?"

Tristram blushed, faintly. "Er…my lord, I could not return with him because, well, I only saw him and did not actually speak to him. You see, he was tied between two men and they had broad swords. I did not think it wise to jump them."

"I see; where were they taking him?"

"To the arena, sire."

"The arena?"

"The amphitheatre. I believe he has been sold to be used as bait in a gladiator display."

The muscles tightened in Arthur's strong jaw and his icy blue eyes flashed dangerously. This could not be happening. He had heard of these gladiator fights and the barbaric nature of them. Often, they took men off the streets in order to fall prey to the tough, skilled warriors that fought there. That's what must have happened to Merlin.

His chest constricted uncomfortably.

Without a word, he headed in the direction from which Tristram had come. He didn't really need to follow the trail, though, because the majestic amphitheatre could be seen towering over the rest of the city, blocking out the sky-line. Although it was magnificent, all Arthur could think was that it would be Merlin's doom.

* * *

Merlin fought fiercely against his captors but they were much too strong for him, their hands like vices around his slender arms, pressing in so hard that he knew they would leave bruises. He still felt terribly weak from his recovery from hypothermia and the blow to his head hadn't helped either. Even so, if he _had_ been up to his full strength then it wouldn't have made any difference. He was trapped.

And he had no idea where they were going. More so, because they dragged him backwards in the most disconcerting of ways so that he had no idea where he was headed or if he was about to crash into something. The unknowing was destroying him inside. He just hoped they would stop soon.

As he was hauled along the street, he desperately hoped that Arthur or one of the knights would appear and save him from his predicament. Unfortunately, he had no such luck and eventually he just glared at the floor, his eyes smouldering with humiliation and annoyance. He _hated _feeling helpless. Of course, he'd considered using magic but the logistics of that were not sound. It would be just his luck to be caught at that exact moment performing some spell by one of his group and that would be the end of him. Especially, if it was Morholt – he could just imagine the knight's exultant glee in finding out that he was, in fact, a sorcerer and _could _be killed for a reason.

He would just have to hold out and hope they didn't kill him too quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that people were watching him – their intense gazes following his progression down the street. It was unnerving. What interest should they have in him? Surely, he looked like a dirty battered prisoner being taken away or a ruffian being escorted out of the city? He wasn't curiosity. At least, he shouldn't be. However, they seemed to be nudging one another and pointing, smiles lighting their tanned faces.

An uncomfortable ball formed in his stomach; like lead.

"Oi, move it," one of his captors barked, tugging violently on his arm – so much so he thought it was about to snap like a brittle twig. He wanted to cry out but he wouldn't give them the pleasure. "We're here."

He had no idea what they were saying but he did register the massive structure that towered above him, adorned with thousands of windows and beautiful statues that were stood in alcoves and decorated the highest point like the spikes of a golden crown. They stood, starkly, against the cold blue sky. Merlin shivered as he felt a slight breeze tremble over him. It was an amphitheatre.

Outside of a pair of mountainous wooden doors stood two guards who were deep in conversation and waved them nonchalantly by without Merlin's captors needing to say a word. He guessed this was a common occurrence then.

He was led inside into a cool corridor which was also ornamented with statues and graffiti seemed to litter the soft, stone walls like the scratching of a hen – the lines rough and short. Although Merlin did not speak or read Latin, he still managed to determine that some of them were names and others were dates written in Roman numerals. Though, he did not get the chance to study them for that long because he was pulled through a door and down a flight of well-worn stone steps into the bowels of the amphitheatre.

The temperature was even lower down here and he felt tremors running down his spine and tingles in his fingers. He really hoped that he wouldn't succumb to the cold again. Staring, uncertainly, around him, he saw how dark and dank it was and he was reminded of the putrid underbelly of the ship; fear rose in his chest, constricting his air supply. This increased tenfold when he saw the wild animals.

It was the bears he saw first with massive forms and ferocious black eyes that seemed to pierce into your soul as they pawed at the ground and knocked, weightily, into the metal bars of their cage. Such size had Merlin in awe for a few seconds as he had never seen a bear so close up – it was so near he could see the wave of its thick fur as it moved and the wrinkling of its angry muzzle.

Then there were the lions. They were not the mountain lions that he'd seen before but smaller and less brown and more golden. Their coats shining like molten metal in the flickering torchlight whilst their manes danced like flames around their heads. Huge, fearsome amber eyes glared at him through the slats and he felt an unconscious chill ripple through him – somehow, he knew he would be meeting these fellows again and he was not looking forward to the prospect.

Just looking at their skeletal frames told him they were starving. That's what they did, didn't they, in these places? He remembered reading about the amphitheatres of Rome; they made the animals hungry and angry so they would kill without thought. Driven crazy with famine. Then they set them on the men in the arena.

He suddenly knew, with horrifying clarity, why he was here.

Just as he had this revelation and his brain whirred frantically, the boy was thrust bodily into a cell and the door was slammed, with a resounding _clang,_ behind him. Finding himself in the dirt once more, he hefted himself up and looked around; he was met with a sea of pale, anxious faces. Other prisoners that had come here to meet their deaths. Hollow, resigned eyes met his own determined blue ones and he was angry to see how defeated and dejected these men looked. Should they not be figuring out how to escape? They didn't even seem to acknowledge his arrival.

"I'm Merlin," he stated, quietly and then went to take a spare space on one of the wooden benches that lined the walls.

He received no reply.

"Does anyone know why we're here? What's going to happen?"

Still no reply.

"_Anyone_?"

Then he remembered that he was being incredibly stupid. They spoke Latin! Of course they didn't understand him. Feeling his cheeks flare with embarrassment, he fell silent.

"You English, boy?" an elderly man hissed; his voice painfully rough as a cough wracked his lungs.

Merlin jumped and met the fellow's eyes, wonderingly. There was actually someone here who spoke his language; how well, he was yet to find out. Hope swelled inside of him and he turned to look at the man square on, questions bubbling like broth in a pot.

"Yes, I am," he said, "Can you tell me why we are here?"

"We're the entertainment," the man said, gravely, "Us beggars and riffraff off the street."

"Hang on, I'm not a beggar," Merlin protested.

"It doesn't matter to them. They take who they like."

"But what's going to happen?"

"We fight, of course, to the death."

* * *

The man was muscular and tall with a liberal tan and fierce black eyes that suggested that he was a force to be reckoned with. His shoulders seemed to flex in anticipation as he stood across the room and his eyebrows twitched expectantly. He would be intimidating to a normal man but Arthur was not any old man and he was definitely not be scared by this jumped up kidnapper.

"I want my servant back," he said, firmly, his tone brokering no arguments.

"I don't know what you are talking about," the other man replied with a lilting accent.

Arthur scowled. "I know you have him here. He's a tall man, _really _skinny with black hair and big ears. You really can't have missed him."

"I'm afraid, Englishman, that I do not have your servant."

"I've _seen _him," the prince stated through gritted teeth. He _hated _it when people lied to him – and so damn blatantly. "His name is Merlin. He's here at your amphitheatre."

"Ooh, no, it's not my amphitheatre; I merely put on the shows that the wealthy pay for."

Arthur threw his hands up incredulously. "You know what; I really don't care about that. Just give me back my damn servant."

"I'm afraid I can't," a sly smile curved his lips.

"So you _do _have him?"

"I found him so I keep him."

"_What_?" Arthur roared. "He's not an object. It's not 'finder's keepers'. You _stole _him."

The man spread his hands. "This is how it works in Italy. It was nice speaking with you but you must leave now."

He motioned towards the door and then began herding Arthur towards it. The prince would not be moved like a small child though; he wasn't about to leave here without his friend. That wasn't how it worked. It wasn't right that this _idiot_ could just take an innocent man off the street and place him in a fight with swords and animals and the gods knew what else. He couldn't allow that to happen to Merlin.

"I'm not going."

"Leave now," the man said, coldly, "Or I will call my soldiers."

Arthur had seen these fellows outside and they were _massive_. He knew that he didn't stand a chance against them and he'd come in hear unarmed, after all, so that the man who was holding his manservant prisoner didn't feel threatened and would hand Merlin over. Obviously, that was a mistake and he wished that he had his trusted blade now so he could run this guy through.

Instead, he took a deep breath and left the room.

As he returned to his knights, he couldn't help but think about the fact that he might not see his goofy friend again. He'd almost lost him once, he wasn't about to again. Merlin was a good man and a half – all right, a quarter – decent servant and those were _truly _hard to come by in his place in life. Usually, people tiptoed around him, catered to his every whim and did everything they could to make him happy. Merlin didn't do any of that – he was his own brand of servant and an annoying one at that but he had charm; he had a character.

No, Arthur wasn't going to give him up to this cretin so that he could be murdered by some trident-wielding, axe-toting lunatic. He and his men would find a way to break him out. It would be easy.

* * *

All right, so it wasn't as easy as he thought. He hadn't expected the ambush on the stairs or the flood of soldiers that appeared from all areas of the amphitheatre as soon as they set foot in the underground prison. He hadn't expected that they would be so good at fight and he hadn't expected his knights to be so easily overwhelmed. Hell, _he _hadn't been expecting to be so easily taken out but when one of those blasted guards held a sharp sword to Segwarides' vulnerable neck, he had to cave. He didn't have a choice.

And so, that was how he and his _entire _band of knights found themselves unceremoniously dumped in a cell with their possessions stripped from them and the horses that they'd left outside, taken. Things were not looking optimistic.

However, he had to admit, grudgingly, that he was slightly comforted when Merlin threw himself out of the shadows and informed him that 'That was the worst rescue attempt ever'. His trademark grin splashed across a somewhat battered face.

But what lay in store for them did not look good.


	15. The Fight

**Author's Note - As usual, love for the reviews. :)**

**Be warned, this chapter is quite graphic.**

**Oh, and think of the film _Gladiator._**

Beneath the bronze scales of the mighty beast that resided in the depths of Camelot castle, a heart thumped fitfully, drumming against ivory ribs. A huge chest heaved with laboured breaths as worry threatened to consume his body; enveloping it like the swirling black waters of an icy lake. His lips curled back over razor-sharp teeth in an uncomfortably nervous manner – like a frightened animal. But he was no wild animal; he was a creature of the Old Religion, a relic of past times that lay dusty and aging in an abandoned prison.

Never before had he felt such a need to leave his confinements; never before had he felt the cold hand of fear grip his beating heart in such a way, so unrelenting. Of course, he had felt pain and loss and concern before – he had lost his whole race after all – but not quite in this way. This was different; overwhelming.

_Merlin_.

The name was ripped from his lungs as if an organ had been removed from his chest, pulsing and bloody. It caused him to shudder right from the tip of his tail to the flaming nostrils of his muzzle; tendrils of smoke curling in the damp air. The boy was failing. He could sense it. Merlin was in trouble and there was nothing he could do about it except cry out in distress, wishing that he could once again see the sky and stretch his wings over the evergreen trees so that he could save him.

_Merlin. _

He roared once more, fire spilling from his nose and mouth like frothing lava, coating the hard, stone wall in fine soot, blackened and charred. This outlet of emotions did not help his suffering.

There _had _to be something he could do. Without the young warlock, the last dragon egg would never be found, would never be rescued and he would remain alone until the day of his death. The mere thought wrenched at his soul. His only family left needed to survive and he would make sure that happened, if it was the last thing he did.

_Merlin. _

He harnessed his thoughts, casting them across the empty darkness like the line of a fishing rod. This would be difficult; this would exhaust him but he had to do it. Amber eyes widened in pain as his mind was stretched beyond its limits. Stars danced before his vision, scattered around haphazardly like the night sky. He _had _to fight through this.

Grunting, his muscles in his neck straining and popping with the effort, the Great Dragon's words spewed forth.

_Merlin. _

* * *

_Merlin. _

The sound cut through the young man's head like a blade, causing him to double over in pain, clutching at his forehead as if it was on fire. A groan of agony was loosed from his lips and his breathing was reduced to loud, frightened pants.

_Merlin. You must listen to me. _

Somehow, the boy didn't even know how it was possible, but the pain had increased tenfold, scorching his mind like a white-hot lance. He cried out more desperately, his eyes rolling and his shoulders trembling with the hurt that he was experiencing. Vaguely, he could hear voices somewhere in the distance, as if they were underwater, frantic and concerned. He blocked those out though. He concentrated on the single voice infiltrating his brain.

_Merlin. Can you hear me? _

_Yes. _

_Good. You must heed my words, Merlin. You must survive this obstacle. I have seen visions – terrible visions…_

_Like Morgana has?_

_The witch has little to do with this, but yes. You will be tried. You will be tested. And you must succeed. If you don't, all will be lost. _

_I thought I was just meant to be fetching the egg?_

_No, this journey, you…everything is much more important than I had foreseen. I did not understand; could not have fathomed…but you have to beat this demon, Merlin. If you do not live then the egg cannot be saved and everything will go wrong – you will not be able to fulfil your destiny. _

_But my destiny is to protect Arthur; not rescue some egg, I'm doing __**that **__for you. _

_Yes, your destiny is to protect the prince and that is why I am telling you. _

_Is he in danger, because if he is you have to tell – _

_Merlin, I must break the connection. I am not strong enough…the pain…the pain is too much. Be strong. Protect the future King of Camelot. And whatever you do, don't allow him to destroy the egg. _

Merlin gasped, suddenly, his chest inflating with much needed air. He woke to find himself on the ground, his cheek pressed into the rough stone and his eyes flecked with dust and dirt. A pair of strong arms were around him, holding him down. Why?

The pain in his head had been alleviated, thank the gods, but he still felt a little strange. Blinking through long eyelashes, he looked up into the worried eyes of Arthur. The blond haired man was staring at him, his hands quivering and his muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Merlin, what the _hell _just happened?" The tone was demanding and yet anxious at the same time.

The lie slipped off the warlock's tongue before he even had to think about it. "I don't know. I don't remember anything."

Arthur offered him an unconvinced frown. There were so many things going on with his manservant at the moment; so many unanswered questions and he still hadn't had a chance to even ask them. He could have sworn that Merlin was getting too mysterious for his own good what with all the answer evading and distraction tactics. Although, the boy may play dumb, Arthur knew he wasn't quite as clueless as he seemed – quite. And he was determined to get to the bottom of things. Perhaps, he should wait until after they had got themselves out of this sticky situation, though.

"It must have been that blow to your head. You just collapsed and started writhing. How are you feeling now?" the prince asked, concerned.

"Better," Merlin replied quite honestly, "You're probably right but I'm fine now."

"Can I look?" Arthur questioned; his normally distant, condescending expression one of worry and unease.

"I said I'm fine!" snapped Merlin, uncharacteristically.

Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "All right, keep your hair on. I was just asking."

"Well…don't ask again."

An unhappy feeling of turmoil bubbled in the boy's stomach as he turned away from his master, dark eyes trained on the wall. He was upset and confused and he didn't want to give things away to his friend so it was better that he pushed him away than let something slip, unintentionally. He knew that Arthur was only trying to help him – something that seemed to be a strangely common occurrence lately what with all his mishaps – but if he found out what had really happened in Merlin's head…

It didn't bear thinking about.

He did need to consider the Great Dragon's words though. If the creature had put so much effort into contacting him; obviously at great pains to himself, then he should probably take what he said at face value. Concern had been etched into every word that the dragon spoke and Merlin knew that whatever threat he was about to face would be a big one. He just hoped he could survive.

* * *

It was around noon when the men came to fetch them and all the prisoners tensed, knowing change was in the air. They were about to be released; into what situation they did not know. However, what they did know was that this would be the death of most of them. Tension hung in the air like a thick blanket.

Twenty pairs of eyes turned to the prison door as it was swung open. A man stepped through, flanked by six soldiers, his eyes an icy, unfeeling blue as he surveyed the array of men in his control. Because of him, their lives hung in the balance…and he really liked that feeling. They could do nothing, they were unarmed and some of them were even chained – helpless.

He smirked.

"My name, for those of you who have not met me already," the man paused, looking straight into Arthur's eyes. He glared back, not sure what the man was saying as he was now speaking in his native tongue. "Is Kaeso. I am in charge of putting on shows so that the wealthy folk will pay me great sums of _denarii_. I won't deny it; it is a lucrative business and you are my pawns, to be used as I see fit. To entertain the crowds that gather; that bay for your blood."

His cold eyes glanced with a fiery quality for just a second.

"Today is the show of Lucius Decimus and he wishes to gain the love of the people. For that, he will need a spectacular display and you will give that to him. Fight with pride, fight with bravery, fight with whatever you want but I assure you that none of you will leave this arena alive."

There was that shark toothed smile.

"We will execute the _noxii _first and then we will move onto your display. You shall be paired off; it's a little invention of mine to make the fighting more interesting, you see: I clap you both in chains and anchor you to one another. If one of you goes down then the other is bound to follow. It creates some interesting scenarios, I can tell you. For instance, one time a fellow sliced off his own arm when his comrade fell in order to survive. An admirable and yet foolish thing to do – the lion got him seconds later."

"What is he saying?" Merlin muttered, quietly, to the man who had spoken in English to him before.

The man stared back at him, his eyes deadened. "We shall be bound to together and we shall perish together."

Merlin felt his gut tighten.

"I shall pick your partner through death's door," Kaeso stated, in an almost happy manner. Somehow, everyone in the room could tell he was taking great pleasure in their combined misery.

He strode forwards, kicking up dirt with his booted foot and scanned the sea of apprehensive faces. "Hmm….let me see. What are the best combinations here….you and….you. Yes. Then you two. And you two – no, the ratty one…yes you."

As he circled the room, seeking out his prey, his guards followed him, clamping thick manacles on the wrist of each man and joining him to another. There was no way those metal bands could be broken without a blacksmith's tool of some kind; something they certainly didn't have here. Merlin had a funny feeling that he may just die in those nasty looking cuffs. Then again, if he used his magic…well, that was another matter entirely. He wasn't finished yet. If it came to it then he believed that he would use his gifts to save them.

"Ah, and here we come to the knights of _Camelot_," Kaeso smirked with contempt, his eyes glittering. He was now speaking in English so that every single knight understood. "And their mighty royal, the skilled Prince Arthur. You're title has no meaning here, my friend."

"I hope you rot," Arthur scowled.

"Now, now," Kaeso chuckled, "No need to be discourteous. I am about to do you a huge favour. You know that manservant that you were so _desperate _to get back? Well, I give you your wish." His face broke into an evil grin. "Chain them together."

He ordered his guards forward and they grabbed both the wrists of the men: one pale, one tanned; one slender, one muscular and joined them. Arthur cried in protest and Morholt just stood with a smouldering expression on his face. Once he had understood what was going on, he had deliberately sidled towards Arthur in the hope that they would be coupled. He had the best chance of survival with the prince. Unfortunately, that dratted manservant had got in the way _again_. Anyone would think the fates wanted him and Arthur to be together.

"I'm not going with _Mer_lin!" Arthur exclaimed, indignantly. "He's useless."

"Thanks, Arthur, that's a good way to keep up my morale and encourage me to fight well. I _knew _you had faith in me," the boy's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

However, inside, he felt similarly to his master. How the hell was he meant to use magic when he was, literally, standing right beside the man he was meant to be hiding it from? One flash of his eyes and surely he would give the game away?

"Sorry Merlin, its just you barely know your backside from your elbow."

Merlin made a face.

"There's that and you really can't wield a sword," Arthur smiled weakly. It was nice to know that he still had it in him to insult the manservant – sort of nice.

Kaeso wasn't listening to their bickering; he was busy joining more men as if marrying them in death. Sir Peregrine and Sir Lamorak, Sir Morholt and Sir Segwarides, Sir Erec and Sir Tristram. Merlin had a horrible feeling that some of those men would not survive this challenge; it was a leaden weight on his soul.

"Right, follow me."

The prisoners were lurched roughly to their feet by the heavily armed soldiers and hustled through the door. Merlin found himself banging, shoulder to shoulder, against his master; he couldn't help but feeling the difference in muscle density and felt himself shrivel a little inside. No wonder Arthur wasn't pleased to be partnered with him, if he wanted to survive then he certainly wouldn't have chosen a puny comrade like Merlin who had a peasant's stature, weakness from his bout with hypothermia and an unhealed head wound. Yes, he had magic, but what use would he ever be to _anyone _if he didn't have it. Without his magic, as he'd said before, he was _nothing_.

They were led up the stairs and through several corridors by which time they were severely disorientated. As they grew closer to the surface, a noise that sounded like a rumble of thunder assaulted the prisoners' ears and they all strained to try and make out what it was. Was there a storm passing by? It grew louder in volume, practically deafening them all with its intensity. Merlin winced, uneasily.

His legs feeling heavy with the weight of dread, the serving boy was not prepared for the sight that met his eyes as a pair of massive doors were opened and the captives filed out into the amphitheatre. Soft sand met his bare feet (his boots had been taken from his a while back) and he stared out at the massive arena with stunned eyes.

The tumultuous sound was coming from the tiered seating that encircled the sandy oval where hundreds upon hundreds of Roman citizens sat, punching the air and whooping and cheering. It was a dizzying sea of colours, like the mixture of paints that Merlin had seen in an artist's palette once. He felt sick as he realised they were all staring at them, screaming at _them_. Merlin didn't like being in the spotlight, he didn't like the attention; not like Arthur. It made him squirm.

Twenty foot walls lifted the seats up and away from the dangerous action that would happen in the arena below. It also stopped the gladiators from escaping, and the wild animals too. They had had a couple of lions somehow scaling the wall in sheer fear but only a few spectators had lost their lives. You should be more worried about badly hurled spears than untamed beasts.

Merlin briefly contemplated as to why they used sand on the floor instead of stone or turf. Then he realised, it was so that they could clean up the blood quickly afterwards. It was merely a case of changing the sand over and they would have a clean base upon which to fight. Once again, his stomach turned.

A large, imposing balcony hung at one end of the amphitheatre and the manservant guessed that was where Lucius Dem-whatever-his-name-was reclined, where he could watch the fighting in comfort and luxury. Merlin wished he had the luxury to watch rather than partake. Actually, that was a lie. He didn't want to watch other people being slaughtered either, it was barbaric, he just wanted out.

The Dragon's words still rung in his ears: _I have seen visions – terrible visions…_

A shudder coursed through him.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice started him abruptly from his thoughts, "Stop being a lazy wretch and move."

"Sire, sorry, I just-"

"Save the excuses, Merlin," the prince's expression was grim, "We don't have time. We need to think about strategising here. We need to think about survival."

He yanked on the chain and brought his manservant stumbling over. Merlin yelped in protest as he found himself moved against his will, he almost head-butted Arthur in his clumsy movement. The prince didn't seem to notice though; he was staring at the chain in his hands with a thoughtful look on his face. Perhaps, he had a plan…

"I could get used to this, you know," he suddenly said, "Pulling you around on a chain. At least you do what I want you to."

"I am not a dog, Arthur," Merlin retorted, huffily.

"No, you're right. You wanted to be a flower, didn't you?" Arthur smirked, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Merlin floundered. "_Sire_¸ I think we have more pressing matters on our hands. For instance, the fact we have been captured by an insane Italian who has chained us together and put us in a giant arena so we can fight like hounds to the death. Or maybe it's the fact that we have no weapons? Or that there is no way out except on a corpse cart or…."

"Or the fact that there is great, huge bear coming straight towards us," Arthur supplied, instantly taking up a fighting stance, "Get behind me."

Unceremoniously, the manservant felt himself being shoved, by calloused hands, behind his master's broad back so he was shielded from view. He could see the vast black beast charging at them with naked hunger in his eyes. It had been one thing to see the animal behind bars but to see it unleashed and furious was quite another. Merlin felt his heart plummet into his feet.

"What exactly are you planning to do, Arthur, take it on with your bare hands?"

"If I have to!" Arthur bellowed.

"Or should I say bare _hand_?" Merlin stated, soberly, staring at the manacle that linked both their wrists together and rendered them useless.

"Shut _up_, Merlin!"

Looking around him, Arthur desperately searched for something that would save them. Anything. There were a few pieces of wood that lay on the ground, peppered with granules of sand, and he grabbed one, balancing its weight in his hand. This was not the arm he favoured and this was not a sword but it would have to do. With an angry yell, he launched himself at the bear, sailing through the air with Merlin trailing like a ragdoll behind him.

_Thump_.

Wood hit fur and bone with tremendous impact, reverberating up Arthur's arm as if he had just punched a brick wall. He cried out in pain. And before he could do anything, the beast was upon them, slashing at him with massive, dagger-like claws. If one of those caught any part of his skin the wound would be deep and most likely fatal – one swipe to the stomach would gut him, one swipe to the neck would garrotte him.

He tumbled to one side, a jerk to his wrist reminding him that Merlin was still attached to him and in danger just as much as he was. He pulled hard, frantically trying to get the boy out of harm's way. Once he was out from beneath the flurry of fur, Arthur hauled him to his feet and began to run. Merlin had no choice but to follow.

The crowd was still roaring.

The pair skidded across the smooth sand, already splashing through pools of blood that had been spilt by other prisoners. Merlin had to grit his teeth a hurdle to corpse of the old man he'd met underground – tears welled in his eyes. There was no time to think much more, however, as he was attacked from the side. The blow almost killed him, any harder and his neck would have snapped from the impact.

Instead, he flew violently through the air and hit the ground with a sickening thud as the lioness that attacked him snarled and attempted to rip out his jugular. He screamed in fear and pain as her teeth caught his soft skin. But then her suffocating weight was gone, slipping to one side like a sack of potatoes.

Arthur was standing over the body of the lion, his expression unreadable, a bloody rock held above his head just in case she should get up and repeat the attack. She didn't.

He held out a hand for his friend. It was hot and damp with the crimson liquid but Merlin ignored that. Arthur had saved him from death but could he do so again? Despite his confidence in Arthur's abilities, he knew even the skilled knight could not take on all these wild animals and win.

To make matters worse, a port cullis was suddenly opened and a stream of chariots poured out.

The _real _gladiators had come to join in the fun.


	16. Losing Them

**No, no, nooo, guys, don't you understand? I can't reveal Merlin's magic right in the middle of the story; it would ruin it, take away the innocent relationship, the tension, the suspense…the **_**everything**_**! Eep! No. **

**However, that doesn't mean to say he can't use it without being seen…**

**This chapter is dedicated to MagicByMerin for her unending support and super-cool-uber-awesome reviews. **

Massive wooden wheels skimmed the surface of the arena as heavy hooves pounded into the soft sand, kicking up great sprays of grit. Robust chariots supported gladiators who were holding a vicious array of weapons from curved bows to cross-bolts to achingly sharp swords. Having trained day in day out, much like Arthur's own men, these men, although they had started their lives as slaves, were now trained professionals. Their living was to fight and kill and survive to fight and kill another day.

Blood-lust shone in their eyes as they surveyed the destruction that had already taken place: torn bodies lay, tossed about the ground like discarded toys; several desperate captives were battling against a fully grown bear that was snarling and bearing down upon them like a black nightmare; three lions were prowling round the edge of the arena, occasionally leaping up the stone wall as if they were trying to reach the audience; another lion lay on its side, blood pooling from an ugly gash to its head.

Several of them hefted their spears above their heads and then, with a terrible battle-cry, they charged towards the survivors, launching their weapons without mercy, cheered on by the screaming applause of the spectators.

Merlin saw the arrow that had been loosed at his master's turned back and reacted on instinct, his eyes flashing as he slowed down time giving himself the chance to knock the prince out of the way. He bowled him over just as the world snapped back to normal speed and the two of them rolled over in the sand. Arthur gasped in surprise and stared up at his manservant who was protecting him with his body – despite its slightness – and was astounded at the sudden display of courage that the boy was showing. Usually, he kept out of the fighting.

Cerulean blue eyes flicked frantically around the amphitheatre as if scouting out any more potential threats to Arthur's life.

Arthur knocked his knee against the boy's hip. "Merlin, will you please get off me?" It was more a command than a question.

"Oh…I-uh, sorry…" Merlin sprung, lithely to his feet and continued to glance around him, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of one of the scarlet chariots hurtling dangerously close to them. "We should get with the others, stick together as a group."

"As much as I appreciate your sudden flair for assessing the situation, I don't think you're quite competent enough to be planning strategies. Leave that to me."

Merlin frowned, looking offended. "I thought it was a good idea, that's what you always do in your training sessions."

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur spoke slowly, as if explaining himself to an idiot, "but that was when we were armed. If we were to gather together now we would be like….sitting ducks. They could surround us in seconds and kill us instantly. No, it is better to stay apart, divide their attention and then I can see if I can take out one or two of these blasted chariots…."

The prince tailed off as he caught sight of a potential target. His muscles tensed in his arms and Merlin felt himself tense alongside him. A chariot was drawing even closer and he was bending his legs ready to spring. "I'll take out this idiot. You keep an eye on the lions. Got it?"

"As much as I hate to point it out to you, sire, but we are kind of attached to one another. Short of chopping off my hand, you aren't going anywhere without me," Merlin said, feeling the jerk as Arthur tried to move abruptly.

"Damn, well then, just, er…go with me."

"I'll try," Merlin muttered.

With that, the young man launched his attack, throwing himself onto the back of the crazily tilting cart, his feet struggling to get a grip on the smooth surface. Merlin's manacle cut into his wrist as Arthur pulled away from him and it felt like his shoulder would dislocate if he didn't jump onto the moving vehicle too. Plucking up quite an amount of courage, he uncoiled his legs and jumped onto the chariot. He felt his trailing shin crack on the back of the cart and he hissed in pain. However, he couldn't dwell on it for long as there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Arthur was grappling with the charioteer, attempting to prise the deadly blade from his calloused hands. They were both struggling manically, arms locked together and eyes full of determination, against the edge of the chariot. The gladiator could feel the hard wood digging into his back as the golden haired man pushed harder; his ribs felt like they would shatter at any moment.

Even so, he would not give up easily and kicked Arthur in the groin with startling – and agonising – strength. Doubling over, the pain literally rendering him incapacitated, Arthur let out a wheezing squeak, his eyes bulging.

Merlin felt the heat of anger rise in his chest at the unfair move by his master's opponent. Still, it seemed anything went in the roman amphitheatre and if that was the case then….

His eyes glinted ochre, just for a second, his lips set in a thin line.

He could not speak. He _would _not speak. Having worked out that was what he needed to do in order to use his magic and still remain alive. It would take a lot of concentration and effort to perform the more complex spells non-verbally but he could still move objects and slow time instinctually without saying a thing so he would use that to his advantage.

This was just another test of his powers and from what Gaius and the Great Dragon had said: he could do it. It was an obstacle, a challenge and he was more than willing to rise to it if it meant he could save lives.

Really, he had grown lazy saying the spells out loud. He knew he had it in him to cast enchantments without opening his mouth and therefore he would use that skill. It would just be a matter of pronouncing the words correctly in his head – then he would be fine.

With the momentary flash of his eyes, the chariot slanted absurdly, slewing the surprised gladiator out onto the ground. He hit the sand with an unnatural crunch of metal and bone; a scream torn from his lips. The horses pounded on regardless and whilst Arthur still curled, gasping, on the floor, tears streaming down his face, Merlin grabbed control of the animals.

"I'm never going to be able to have children," Arthur groaned in an agonised tone, his face clenched.

"Don't tell your father that," Merlin grinned, steering the chariot deftly in order to miss a lion.

Arthur, seeing what his manservant had done, frowned. "What the hell did you do that for? Why didn't you hit the damn thing? It would have been one less monster for us to deal with."

"It's just an animal, Arthur, it doesn't want to be here anymore than we do. Look at its ribs, it's starving and exhausted and…"

"As much as I know you're not over your beloved chicken, Merlin, I think this is really not the time for your equal rights for animals speech. The more of those creatures we kill the better our chances."

"We don't _need _to kill them!" Merlin protested.

"Oh, yeah, so what do you propose we do? Sing them a lullaby and hope they lie down for a nap? We're trying to get out of here _alive_, Merlin!"

Merlin was about to retort but the words died on his lips. That really wasn't a bad idea. When he was younger, he used to calm horses that were frightened by the violent storms of autumn and cows that did not wish to leave their young. All he had to do was utter a simple spell and they would become lethargic and docile. It had been a very good trick and caused him to be one of the most highly respected animal handlers in his village; people used to come to him for help.

Would it make much difference if the animals were not the agricultural kind but the wild, ferocious sort?

"Stop the cart, Merlin!"

He obeyed without thinking, bringing the horses to an abrupt and undignified halt. They hung their heads, snorting, puffs of warm air mixing with the cold and creating swirls of grey mist. Despite the temperature, their flanks and necks were damp with a thin sheen of sweat. One of them stamped its feet, impatiently. These were horses trained for battle; they did not like to hang around. Merlin wouldn't be surprised if he approached them and was kicked or bitten for his trouble.

Still feeling the ache in his groin, Arthur jumped with a little less elegance than he would have usually managed from the chariot and hefted his newly acquired sword in experienced hands. He felt reassured now, with the weight of the metal in his hand and the texture of the hilt beneath his fingers – this was home. Wincing a little as he swung the blade round a few times and shifted his stance accordingly, the prince cursed the gladiator for being such a foul-fighter. He wasn't joking when he said it didn't feel like he'd ever be able to have children again.

Seeing that the prince was busy, Merlin focussed on the animals that were running around the arena, channelling his magic into his head but keeping his jaw clamped shut. _Dormi statis. _The two words filled his head and he felt a warmth in his hand but he forced himself not to raise it. The lions halted in their trackers, staggering as if they had taken a physical blow to the head; amber eyes dulled with confusion and exhaustion. One of the males actually collapsed on the ground, his hind legs curling beneath him as he succumbed to the lullaby which had seeped into his mind, consuming all of his thoughts. His great, flaming head rested on his giant paws.

Merlin smiled in satisfaction, his eyes glimmering tawny for one last moment before shifting seamlessly to sapphire blue. Nervously, he glanced over at Arthur to see if his magic had been detected.

As always, Arthur remained oblivious.

The prince's attention was now on the sword that was clutched in his tense fist, white bone popping out starkly on his knuckles, as he observed the situation; knight's brain working over-time to work out a means of escape. His gaze fell upon his men who were fighting bravely, unarmed, against their adversaries. It would only be a matter of time before one of them lost their life.

There was no doubt that they needed to take down the rest of the chariots, much like he had; otherwise they didn't stand a chance.

Sparing a glance at his manservant, he saw he was looking rather awkward – guilty even like a child who had broken a vase. Arthur frowned, wondering what on earth he could have done wrong now; knowing when it came to Merlin then trouble was never trailing far behind.

Before he could contemplate this further, however, a blade swung so close to his head that it actually sliced off a lock of his hair. The golden strands fluttered leisurely to the ground like a loosened feather falling from a downy underbelly, twirling in the cold air. Arthur reacted instinctively as soon as the strike had been missed, swinging his arm around in a sweeping motion and feeling the impact as the sword connected with solid metal. The resounding clang told him that he'd hit the gladiator's breast-plate. Damn.

Cursing his misfortune, Arthur sprung backwards, lifting his weapon to repeat the attack. The charioteer flung himself out of the way as the fatal blade swished wildly – a second later and he would have been gutted. Now that the knight was facing him, he felt more in control; he could take the offensive rather than the defensive.

Unfortunately, he could still feel his link with Merlin impeding his usually flowing movement, like a rock was attached to him. With a growl, he wrenched the boy to his side and once again stared at his adversary. Merlin shot him an irritated look.

Jumping forward, he feinted to the left and then drove his sword towards the man's right side but the gladiator had been anticipating this, diving out of the way, rolling on the sandy ground.

"For crying out loud, Merlin, move _with _me!" Arthur bellowed his gaze still focussed on the man who was on his feet again.

"That's sort of difficult when you keep changing direction."

"That's the point, you imbecile!"

"Well…I can't help it," Merlin finished lamely as another gladiator charged in to join the fray. He found himself spun in a circle by his master, ending up on Arthur's protected side with the two opponents facing his drawn blade.

As they all flew towards one another, Merlin's eyes changed, unnoticed, and he snatched one gladiator's sword right from his hand just in time for Arthur to run him through. The man's eyes went wide and glassy as he sunk, dazedly, to his knees, blood spewing from his stomach. Arthur didn't even consider the fallen man as he moved onto the next one, cracking his shoulder blade with a well timed pommel-blow. The man cried out in pain and crumpled, clutching at his arm.

Merlin nodded with satisfaction as the prince turned back to him.

"Merlin…" Arthur froze mid-step, "Why are you're eyes _yellow_?"

Gold instantly morphed to sapphire.

"What? No, they're not," Merlin replied, the edge to his voice almost betraying him. The prince did not look convinced. "It must have been a trick of the light, the sun catching my eyes."

He tried desperately to control his quaking elbows – why the _hell _were his _elbows_ quaking? – and gulped down air, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. The warlock couldn't believe it: his knees could have been knocking or his hands trembling or his chin trembling but _no_ his elbows had to be bloody quaking! What kind of freak was he? He couldn't even do _fear _correctly.

Fortunately, Arthur seemed to be too distracted to pursue the so called 'trick of the light' as he had caught sight of Segwarides and Morholt valiantly holding off three gladiators who were raining blows down on them whilst Sir Erec was busily protecting the less experienced Tristram from a large bear whose roars echoed around the amphitheatre, ricocheting off colonnades and balconies. The young man's eyes were round with fright. He had been in fights with skilled men and even sorcerers but never a furious wild animal. This was new territory.

Suddenly, a horrific scream tore through the wintery air and the fighting almost froze – almost.

Arthur's neck snapped so fast that it could have broken and his gaze fell upon a sight that he'd really hoped he wouldn't have to witness. The unmistakable crimson-robed body lay on the floor, his skull caved in from a blow to the head, a mixture of red, pink and grey mess pooling on the floor, mingling with the white sand. His mahogany hair was matted and dull.

Sir Lamorak.

Feeling his stomach heave at the scene, the prince fought back the oncoming sickness and charged towards the dead man. He knew there could be nothing done for the vain knight now but his companion, poor Sir Peregrine who was struggling frantically against his bonds, could be saved, if he just got there in time, before…

The lion leapt out of nowhere, having suddenly snapped out of its isotonic state, in order to maul the vulnerable human. Arthur could never have known the reason for the animal's attack was because of him. Was because of the fact that he had surprised Merlin so much, as he yanked on their chains - causing the boy to overbalance at hit the ground - that the spell had literally been knocked from his head.

Therefore, he could only tug desperately at the stupid idiot who tried to scramble to his feet, and watch in absolute dismay as the full grown male lion hurled itself at the man, breaking him as easily as a twig. Buckling under the pressure of the mass of fur, bone and sinew, Peregrine's windpipe was crushed in powerful jaws. He struggled for a few seconds and then fell limp; Arthur was reminded horribly of when his hounds returned with a partridge or a pheasant in their proud mouths. Only, instead of colourful plumage and patterned feathers, the knight's copper-head lolled like a common kill. Scarlet blood dripped down his neck, travelling along his freckled skin, over the ridge of his dimpled chin and pooling in the wells of his eyes like unshed tears.

Arthur felt sick again.

This couldn't be happening; his knight couldn't have died right in front of his eyes whilst he watched from a distance, anchored by blasted Merlin!

With a ferocious glare, the prince took huge strides away from the boy, willing himself not to hit him. That wouldn't achieve anything and he knew it but he had just lost two of his best knights and friends because of his manservant's clumsiness. Men had lost their _lives_. It wrenched at his heart to think that, a pain that spread like a fire through his chest.

Blinking hard, the young man finally found the will-power to turn back to his servant who stared at him with those damn doleful eyes, surrounded by long thick lashes like a bloody baby deer or something.

Deep down he knew it wasn't really Merlin's fault but the gawky, skinny manservant was the only one here to blame other than himself and he was going to take the low-road on this one. Bending down and grabbing the sword from a fallen gladiator, he shoved it roughly into Merlin's ribs.

"Wield that, if you can," he said with some spite.

Merlin took the proffered blade in trembling hands and bade his body to be still, he couldn't show fear or upset in front of Arthur; the prince hated weakness. He could also feel the anger emanating off the other man in waves, buffeting him like an endless wind. All this magic seemed to be making him hypersensitive. The guilt of the prince's unsaid accusations weighed him down.

Mouth downturned, the warlock focussed on the task at hand, observing the few remaining survivors that were battling with the last of the gladiators and a few lingering lions. Segwarides and Morholt were fighting as a pretty efficient team and Merlin couldn't help feel a little betrayed by his newly made friend's ease. He couldn't be too upset, however, because if Seg didn't cooperate then he would surely die. They had acquired swords also and were battering a chariot.

Erec was helping Tristram who seemed to have an injury of some kind on his left leg. Blood was pouring from a deep gash.

As he watched the pair, Merlin suddenly realised something…the crowd had gone quiet.

Glancing quickly around him with some apprehension he saw the spectators sitting on their stone benches, tensed in anticipation. Fingernails dug into sweaty palms and spines straightened with excitement. What was going on?

_Arrrrrrghhhhhhhh. _

The sound filled the stadium like initial rumble of a volcanic eruption and Arthur froze by Merlin's side. What on earth…

Then he saw it, rising out of the trapdoor which had somehow been rigged beneath the sand: a massive bull elephant.

This just got better and better.


	17. Flying Free

**_Edited to make a major correction._**

**Author's Note - Thankies so much for the reviews. Watching X factor. Personally, I don't see what the fuss is about. Its not that great. Though Leona Lewis is a very good singer. :O**

**Major Spoiler for Season 2 episode 12.**

**Okay, how bloody-freakin' awesome was Merlin? That was so my favourite episode of all time. It had everything it needed to make it a legend! Man, I can't express my love enough. Merlin getting injured and Arthur caring; Gaius' scary smile; carrying Uther around whilst apples hit his head; Merlin and Arthur talking about being master and servant in after life; Merlin having the guts to kill Morgana and her realising, so sad; Morgause not realising Merlin isn't just a mere servant but....the most awesomist warlock bad-guy-buster of all time.**

"You have got to be kidding me," Arthur murmured as he stared at the enormous beast.

He had seen one before, in a travelling circus where it was tied to a rope and followed like a docile dog. But he'd never seen one free, never so obviously angry. It was vast, the size of a house at least, with saggy grey skin and billowing ears that flapped backwards and forwards as if in constant flux. Legs like tree-trunks and ivory tusks that he knew could gore a man in seconds whilst that strange extra limb – that trunk – it could crush and throw and hit.

He tried desperately not to show fear, not to let his shoulders shake or his sword to quiver in his hand but it was too damn difficult.

With a deafening trumpet, the elephant began its rampage.

It crushed two men before they had time to flee and Arthur was astounded to realise that they were actually gladiators. This animal was too crazy with fear and blinded by anger that it didn't care who it trampled with those hulking feet. They were all about to die unless they escaped. He knew that. As that Roman had said, they weren't meant to get out of here alive.

Arthur wasn't prepared to die yet.

Therefore, his eyes scanned the amphitheatre, calculating his options. Obviously, they could stay and fight but he was certain that was suicide, they would be nothing more than a bloody pulp by the time the elephant finished with them. Then there was the hope that they avoided the creature long enough then it would either grow tired or kill all of the gladiators and then perhaps they would be free to go. He doubted it. If they didn't get out of the arena by their own means then they wouldn't ever again.

His final idea was probably the best but most definitely the most complicated. It involved using the surviving horses, which were cantering pointlessly around the edge of the amphitheatre having shod their chariots, and using them to distract the raging elephant. The rest of the group would then gather together the upturned chariots and build a kind of make-shift ramp which they could climb to get over the wall and into the audience. From there it was anyone's game.

It was a long-shot and if the chariots were too heavy to shift then they didn't stand a chance but it was worth a try.

"Merlin, come on!" He pulled with a little more force than was necessary and began to run across the loose terrain.

"Where are we going?"

"To get the others."

"I thought that was _my _initial idea and _you _shot it down?" the boy shouted, somewhat bitterly.

"This is different, trust me."

"I guess I'll have to," Merlin muttered and although he had meant to be saying it only to himself, Arthur heard. His heart clenched, there was a time when his manservant would have trusted him implicitly but perhaps, what with all that had happened, that bond was starting to fray.

Several of the gladiators were throwing spears at the elephant and failing miserably as the sharp points bounced off tough skin. In a great sweeping motion, the beast bowled five of them over at once with its trunk and stamped on one's leg with its foot. Suddenly, it reared and let out an agonised scream, rearing into the air like a frightened horse. But this was no horse; it was several tons heavier and came back to earth with a thump that literally shook the foundations of the arena.

Merlin spotted the shaft of a spear that was sticking out of the vulnerable soft skin where the top of its leg joined its chest. Treacle-black blood was already spewed down its wrinkled side. The warlock couldn't help feel a pang of sympathy to see a wild animal so wounded – it wasn't its fault it was here, alone and frightened.

"Segwarides, Morholt," Arthur addressed his two knights with something like relief in his tone, "I'll need your help."

As Erec and Tristram joined them, their expressions identically morose, he quickly, outlined the plan the plan that he had formulated. He knew it was risky and it was hard to explain things in any detail but it was the only chance they had. It was decided that he and Merlin would take the horse in order to distract the elephant and everyone else would begin stacking the chariots. They roped in a few stragglers to help them.

The audience seemed to be growing aware of their plan as there was some booing and hissing. They could not have known _exactly _what was about to occur, however, because then they would have gone to more lengths to stop it. As it was, the knights continued with their plan unimpeded.

"So, Arthur, how exactly are planning on catching and mounting one of these horses, with two of us and without a saddle?" Merlin asked in a conversational tone as his master began eyeing up the animals. They were charging around the amphitheatre with wild abandon, perhaps, glad to be free of their restraints.

"We'll manage," Arthur muttered.

Glancing back at the building party, Merlin saw that they were struggling to lift the chariots for they were, indeed, much too heavy and cumbersome even for several of them to carry. After throwing a surreptitious peek at the prince, he saw that he was free to assist them and his eyes shimmered for a few seconds as he alleviated the weight. Initially, the knights looked surprised but they took it all in their stride, shuffling swiftly over to the edge of the arena and leaning the cart against the wall.

The plan was taking shape.

Having taken out all of the gladiators, except one who was now cowering in the far corner in a lame attempt to blend in with the corpses, the elephant was searching for new victims to take its anger and confusion out on. Its massive, frightened eyes fell upon the largest group still alive and in that moment, Arthur knew he had to act. Or else it would cost the lives of the rest of his men.

Flying across the sand, he took a running leap and scrambled onto the back of a white horse. It shrieked in surprise. As did Merlin, who found himself being dragged along beside the speeding animal. His wrists chaffed painfully as he dangled and he thought his shoulder was about to dislocate. Arthur was also baring his teeth in pain as he tried to keep Merlin from disappearing under the pounding legs of the horse; the muscles bulged in his arms and the vein in his forehead pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

"_Come on_, Merlin," he grunted, blue eyes fiery with determination.

And then, with a well timed bounce of the foot on the manservant's part, Merlin was launched onto the horse's back – and almost over the other side, as a matter of fact, if Arthur hadn't caught him. He sat there, breathing hard, his raven hair plastered to his face despite the obvious cold. Soon the dampness would cool and he would start to shiver again.

"You all right?" Arthur asked, immediately, wrapping his fingers in the horse's mane to gain control of the animal. With a sharp tug to the left he could make it go left and if he pulled right it would veer right. He may not have reins but these horses were fairly well trained creatures and would do what he wanted.

Merlin nodded and then realising the prince couldn't see him said, "Yeah, I'm….fine."

"Good, I thought you were going to be Merlin-soup beneath those hooves."

"Me too," Merlin shuddered, "Hey, you know what, perhaps _next _time you could warn me before you go leaping onto moving horses with me attached to your wrist."

"Next time? Merlin, I'm not planning on making this into a regular occurrence," Arthur replied, throwing an amused, if slightly strained, smile over his shoulder. Although he was still not over his knight's deaths he knew he couldn't really blame Merlin; it wasn't really his fault and it was actually difficult to stay angry with him.

As the animal's muscles rippled beneath their unprotected thighs, Arthur planned out what he was going to do next. He needed to get the elephant's attention and make sure that attention stayed on him. Spurring into action, he increased the speed of the horse's gallop, charging across the arena like the ground was on fire. Drawing his sword, he sliced a long gash into the elephant's leathery rump.

"That was uncalled for-" Merlin began but clamped his mouth shut as he saw the murderous look in the beast's brown eyes. He could have sworn they were tinted red.

It screamed in fury and wielded its whole body round on the spot, white tusks glinting in the weak sunlight. In seconds, it was upon them and Arthur had to duck out of the way at the same time as wheeling his horse in a circle in order to miss a fatal blow. Contact was so close that he felt the wind whistle through his hair. The horse whinnied and tried to flee but he held it steady, desperate to keep the bull's attention. It glared at him, sides heaving with hurt and outrage.

"Just a little longer," Arthur murmured, his eyes picking out the fast-growing ladder of chariots. Erec and Tristram were both puffing and red in the face from carrying the last chariot up the pile.

It would seem that the spectators and all the guards were more interested in focussing on the almost ritualistic dance between the massive elephant and the tiny horse with its two riders who swayed this was and that, prancing and leaping out of harm's way. It was like a snake with a charmer. Daintily, the horse-human combo sidestepped a gore from a vicious tusk and skittered away, tempting the elephant to come closer.

* * *

They had done it.

The half-pyramid of scarlet chariots rose up the wall as if it was a creeper climbing a stone cottage and the remaining survivors scrambled up the uneven surface of protruding wheels, spokes and broken edges. The knights made sure the civilians were first to leave and then Sir Erec lifted Sir Tristram as he could not make it up with his injured leg. He was reminded fleetingly of carrying his little daughter up to bed when she was too tired to mount the stairs, his arms trembled but he fought back the emotion and ploughed on. Tristram needed him.

Sir Segwarides and Sir Morholt were the last to leave as Seg spared one last glance at his fallen comrades and gritted his teeth, determined not to let a tear spill from his eyes. He could feel Morholt pulling incessantly on his arm.

"Cut it out, will you?" he snapped, blue eyes shimmering with loss and annoyance.

"We need to go. _Now_."

"No, we need to wait for Arthur and Merlin," Segwarides replied.

"We'll be killed if we don't go." He gestured fiercely to the rampant elephant that was attacking their master and his servant.

"We can't leave them," Seg said, stubbornly, placing his hands on his hips.

Morholt scowled at him. "We _have _to."

"Just because you're a cowardly, manipulative and selfish person doesn't mean I am. I'm not going without them."

"That's too bad." There was something evil in Morholt's eyes. "Because if you don't come with me then I'll just have to…chop off your wrist."

In a flurry of movement, he grabbed Segwarides' arm in a vice-like grip – fingers digging in so hard that they'd leave purple bruises – and held his sword precariously close to the skin. So close that Seg could actually imagine the pain as the blade sliced through soft tissue and muscle and ultimately bone. He could imagine the splintering _crack_.

"Come with me or you'll lose your arm," Morholt hissed, spittle flying from his lips and landing, hot and wet, on Segwarides' cheek. Abruptly, he moved the blade to the other man's throat. "Or your life."

Screwing his indigo eyes shut, the young blond knight fought his fear and puffed out his chest. With a strength and bravery borne from spending time with the likes of Merlin and Arthur – he knew if it was either of them what they would do - he opened his eyes and glared with quiet hatred at Morholt.

"Do it then."

Morholt actually looked taken aback and Seg didn't know whether to be pleased or offended. Obviously, he'd judged him as a push-over or at least more on his side than on Merlin's but he'd take Merlin's friendship any day. Besides, the prince was still out there, in trouble, and they were meant to protect him until they drew their last breath.

Something flickered in Morholt's dark eyes and then Segwarides' saw the sword coming towards him.

"No," he whispered but he didn't even have time to raise his weapon.

* * *

Primal instinct was driving Arthur to make his decisions, it was as if his body had taken leave of his mind and was performing tasks on its own. He didn't even have to think _move right_ or _drop back_ and yet his hands were doing it for him. It was a result of a lot of training and natural talent. Behind him, Merlin clutched his waist, his whole frame as taut as a bowstring. He knew that the peasant boy wasn't used to these situations. Hell, he wasn't used to fighting a fifteen foot grey boulder that could move but he had to be strong for Merlin's sake. It was as if he was the older brother protecting his little one – the helpless one. Merlin sure fit into that category with his gawky features, clumsy body and general knack for hurting himself.

Still, even all this wasn't an excuse for the manservant to practically squeeze all the air out of his lungs.

"Hey, Merlin, loosen up, will you? I can't breathe!"

"Sorry," came the muffled apology.

Sparing a glance over at the tower of chariots, he could see they had all vanished and he and Merlin were the only ones left in the amphitheatre. Things would be difficult from here on in, however, as the soldiers had been alerted to the break out and were charging through the audience in order to stop the escapees. He just hoped they made it. Arthur could see Morholt scuttling up the steps with a large form draped over one shoulder. Segwarides? He wondered what had happened but there wasn't anything he could do at this moment considering he was playing a very dangerous came of tag with an enraged elephant. He thrust with his sword; feeling gratified as metal caught skin.

Its eyes rolled like white marbles in its granite head as it stumbled, haphazardly, around.

"Arthur! The chariots!" Merlin suddenly cried out in dismay and Arthur turned his head to look at where he was pointing.

The elephant was backpedalling furiously, in order to escape receiving a stinging blow similar to the one Arthur had just inflicted. Its torn ears flapped and it stamped its feet just as it came upon the carefully constructed ladder of chariots. It crushed several and sent the rest flying – completely oblivious to what it had just done.

Merlin and Arthur stared on in horror.

"What do we do now?" Arthur uttered, disbelievingly.

They were trapped.

And the elephant was turning on them once more. If the gladiators _and_ his efforts hadn't managed to quell it by now then their chances were very slim. It was invincible. Puffs of misty air issued from its mouth and Arthur was reminded of the dragon that they would never get to slay. This was it; they were done for. He had failed his father and he had failed Merlin. His head fell against the sweaty, warm neck of the horse. He wanted to hit something.

"I'm sorry Merlin-"

He was cut off by the strangest sound that was issuing from the horse's mouth. It sounded like it was in pain. No, scratch that, not pain, like it was confused and scared. Lifting his face up sharply, he felt something move beneath his legs. What on earth…? The animal's barrelled rib-cage was shaking and its skin was scorching hot beneath two points on his thighs. Yelping, Arthur shuffled backwards, almost sliding Merlin off the horse's rump as he did so.

"Merlin! Something's happening to the horse-"

He tried to scramble off the overheating creature but found Merlin clutching onto him with a strength he didn't know he possessed, holding him in place.

Arthur struggled. "Merlin, what the hell, let me go!"

He glanced round to make sure that the boy knew how displeased he was and saw Merlin's eyes glint in the sun again – they looked like molten gold. And then the ethereal quality was gone.

"Merlin, we need to get off this horse…its-its…"

The prince never got to finish his sentence as a dreadful tearing noise reached his ears and he saw the manservant flinch, his eyes creasing with a kind of internal guilt. The horse shrieked.

Turning round to face the front of the animal, Arthur was met with an absurd and frankly terrifying sight. Something was breaking through the shining white coat of the horse, something from within its body but that was impossible…wasn't it? To begin with they were just nodules, like the undeveloped horns of a fluffy kid, but then they grew into mounds and the skin tore. Arthur winced, wondering what on earth could be happening to the poor animal.

Branches seemed to sprout from the horse's back, from its shoulder blades, curling into the air. Well, they looked like branches but then Arthur realised what they actually were.

Wings.

The horse that _he _was sitting on had just grown feathered wings that rose, like giant versions of a _swan's_ wings, into the air. They flexed above his head, momentarily blocking out the sun and casting a shadow over his astonished face. He could do nothing but gape.

It was Merlin, therefore, that registered the stampede of wakened lions, bears and the enormous elephant, and reacted. He squeezed the horse-bird-thing's flanks and it galloped forward, all previous fear forgotten, and it spread its wings as if it had been born into them. They charged the length of the arena and then Arthur experienced a feeling of weightlessness. Staring down, his jaw dropping, he saw the amphitheatre fast disappearing below them. This was ludicrous. This was unbelievable. But this had to have been the work of sorcery.

"This is sorcery."

"Well observed," Merlin quipped, dryly, behind him.

"We're flying and this shouldn't be possible," Arthur said slowly, as if stating the facts would make them untrue. He was in denial.

Merlin smiled slightly, aware that his master couldn't see him. "No, it shouldn't be but it is."

"Its sorcery," he repeated, blue eyes hardening.

Poking the prince gently in the small of his back, Merlin said, seriously, "If you're planning on jumping off the horse just to prove a point then I really don't advise that." He peered down and felt his stomach do a somersault. "Its quite a fall and I don't think even you could pick yourself and dust yourself off after that."

"My father...."

"Your father isn't here," Merlin murmured.

Arthur didn't look convinced but he didn't say anything. He just stared straight ahead, his shoulders tensed. Merlin observed his back for a few minutes, noticing that he held the same position the entire time, as if any small movement, any sign of relaxation would mean that he'd accepted this small use of sorcery. Well, he supposed it wasn't a _small _use of sorcery considering the fact that he'd made a horse, an actual _horse_, fly. Wait until he told Gaius. It had taken a lot of effort not to speak and generally perform such a complex spell but he'd pulled it off.

And the plus side was that Arthur hadn't even noticed. At least, he hoped he hadn't noticed. There was a point when he'd turned round and Merlin could have sworn he saw his eyes change colour but he didn't comment on it so thankfully he was just as unobservant as usual.

"When we land," Arthur said, with determination in his voice, "We need to find the others and then we need to move on. Its not safe here. I have some gold in my boots, they didn't find it when they captured us because its in a special compartment."

"You have a special compartment in your boots?" Merlin repeated, incredulously.

"Yes, if you cleaned them better then perhaps you would have noticed. We need some horses, we have this one..." he paused, looking momentarily unsure, "And...er...we'll need more if we want to get to this dragon egg. We really need to press on, we've been distracted and held up too many times and my father will not be happy if we don't all return soon. Well, not all of us." Arthur corrected himself and Merlin saw how much he felt the loss of his men. He really would make a great king. "The loss of Sir Lamorak and Sir Peregrine is huge but we must continue on our quest, they would have wanted it."

"I'm sure they would," the raven haired manservant agreed, patting his master on the shoulder.

**When in Rome (okay, so they're not quite there yet) do as the Romans do, throw a Pegasus into the mix! Whoop! **

**Oh, I forgot to mention. Seg mwhahaha!**


	18. Uncertainties

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for all the lovely reviews. I'm very glad you are still enjoying the story and aren't getting _too _annoyed at my seeming lack of focus. **

**Just so you know, Arthur didn't know it was Merlin who performed the spell. I didn't make that very clear, I realise now. Sorry. Also, I started with the flying horse being black and changed it to white and missed one of the changes. Sorry if that confused you. It is white. **

**Oh, and thanks to MagicByMerlin for the extraordinarily long review last chapter.**

Arthur was not sure about a lot of things. Firstly, he definitely wasn't sure that he should be riding a horse that had sprouted wings in front of his eyes or whether he should be killing it because of what it represented. But staring at its pert ears and glossy white coat that now shone with a kind of silvery glow, he knew that the only thing this horse had ever done was be obedient to its master; it hadn't asked to be turned into some kind of freakish beast. He was reminded of the griffin and the Bastest that he'd fought in previous times, why did all the creatures seem to be crossed with something that could fly? That just made them harder to defeat.

Somehow, though, he knew that this creature would not pose a threat to him. The colour white he associated with pureness, it was the colour of the gods and of innocence. Strangely, he could sense that this animal had been borne of a different magic to the rest – a good magic, not that he believed magic could be good.

It seemed to be taking such joy in the flight, galloping through the air in a loping, weightless gait. Occasionally, it would toss its silvery mane, letting out a whinny of pleasure as its magnificent wings spread out above it. Arthur could feel the power that emanated from it. Someone very strong must have conjured this animal and he didn't know whether to be impressed or afraid. If they had aided him did that mean they were on his side?

That was another thing he wasn't sure about. Who had helped him? He understood that Italy was a land where sorcery roamed free – his father had warned him of that and that he would need to keep his wits about him – but who on earth would have wished to assist a stranger like him? And in such a creative way at that.

He would have thought that if someone wished to rescue him then they would have done it in a more strategic, proficient manner. This magic 'trick' had a childish element about it. It wasn't dark or menacing; no one had been hurt or killed in the event of it happening. They had simply escaped without causing pain or injustice. He hadn't believed that sorcerers were capable of not escaping a situation without hurting _someone_. He didn't think they even tried.

This was indeed something new.

And then there was the final thing he felt unsure about. Perhaps, he pondered, it could be _the _most important thing. Because he was fairly certain, in fact he was positive, that Merlin's eyes had been yellow. No, not yellow, _golden _like burning suns. He could remember the vividness, the vibrancy of the colour – it was so unnatural to him and yet it seemed natural. No matter how many times the boy fobbed him off he knew something was up and he would be damned if he didn't find out what.

So far, he had to admit, that he was at a loss for the reason of this abnormality. He had the sense that he had the answer somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, but every time he delved into the darkness he just came up with a blank. And worst of all he knew it was very, very important.

For the most part they travelled in silence, the usual conversationalist, Merlin, seemed to have run dry his well of ill-timed gags and annoying questions. All the prince could hear was the steady sound of the boy's breathing and the thud of his heart through his chest as he leant on Arthur. He wondered whether he was scared. Perhaps, he was frightened of heights and that was the reason for his quiet. Somehow, Arthur knew that wasn't the right answer.

Maybe, he was rerunning the events that had just occurred with sickening clarity, just like Arthur was. His mind was now buzzing with soul-scarring images: the oozing wound of Sir Lamorak; the broken body of Sir Peregrine hanging in the lion's jaws; the rest of the corpses littering the arena, drenching the sand with their blood. And for what? Entertainment? He could understand if it was a fair fight, a fight for honour or a fight to defend one's home, one's family but to throw a bunch of helpless citizens into a pit full of wild animals and savage men was barbaric. How many men had lost their lives for the insatiable bloodlust of others?

It made him physically cramp in his stomach. The muscle jumped in his jaw as it always did when he was angry.

"Sire, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Merlin, just a little…"

"Stressed?"

"Yeah, that's the word," Arthur sighed in such a way that the man sitting behind him felt absolutely terrible.

Merlin knew that Arthur was feeling the loss of his men like a particularly painful battle wound; persistently aching. He could imagine that he was feeling like he'd lost a limb. Before he had set out on this journey, the manservant would never have guessed how much the prince's knights actually meant to him. He had believed them ignorant, subservient buffoons with the attention span of a drunken duck….however, now he realised they truly were much more (well, excluding Morholt) even Lamorak had fought bravely in battle.

They were Arthur's friends just as much as he was and he knew that it would take the young man a good deal of time to heal the mental scars.

For that, Merlin was determined to be there, to help him when he needed help and promise him that it wasn't his fault. If it _was _anyone's fault then the blame fell to him. Not because of his clumsiness, he knew Arthur had forgiven him that, but because of his lack of courage and selfishness, essentially. Should he have been brave enough then he would have damned all the consequences and used his magic; then he would have saved the lives of the good men lost. Instead, he waited too long, until the walls were closing in on them and he had no other choice. If he had acted sooner…

Guilt clenched in his gut and he closed his eyes, not believing himself worthy enough of seeing the beautiful scenery that the horse was showing them. He didn't think he could ever face the knights again, not with the shame that weighed him down like a lead ball.

Glorious purple mountains, blanketed with snow passed unseen below him. A herd of wild horses galloped freely in a meadow, young colts desperate to keep up with the scorching speed of the stallions; a sea of browns, blacks and creams against the snowy green carpet that flowed beneath their hooves like running water. An eagle soared above them, chestnut wings spread wide – challenging them all to outstrip _him_.

A dark cluster of houses, smoke spiralling from the chimneys, nestled in the arms of two hills. Even from their height, children could be seen playing in the snow, tossing armfuls in the air and an ox laboured in a crop field, dragging a plough.

As only Arthur gazed at the beauty, he realised that they had travelled far out of the city of Genua and that his men would still remain there, perhaps captured or else searching for him and wondering what had become of him. Worry caught hold of him and he grabbed abruptly at the horse's mane, trying to angle the creature towards the earth or at least turn him round in order to turn back. He would do neither.

"Turn round you stupid creature," he shouted, "Are you deaf or completely dim-witted?"

There was a small chuckle from behind him. "Sounds like something you'd say to me."

Arthur shot him a reproachful look. Now was not the time to be cracking jokes. "Merlin, we're heading further and further away from Genua. The others are still there and they'll be wondering where we've gone!"

"Correction," Merlin replied amiably, "They'll be wondering where _you've _gone. They don't care about me. Besides, wasn't it you that claimed we needed to press on and not be distracted so that we can find this dragon egg and destroy it? Surely, if we turn back then we will be wasting that _precious _time that you keep going on about? They'll be fine, I'm sure of it; in fact we can just pick them up on the way back. If we keep going at this rate then we'll be to Rome and back in a couple of days."

Arthur stared at his manservant, his whole upper half twisted so that he could look at the boy full on. Something must have gone to his head. The Merlin _he _knew wouldn't be half as forthright. Usually he skirted round the issue like a dithering chambermaid. Now he was talking about going this alone, leaving the knights behind. It seemed harsher coming from the peasant's mouth than it ever would from his. However, he knew that the boy had a point, it would be quicker. In fact, they were even coming upon Rome as he spoke. It would be stupid to return to Genua.

Still, he couldn't help be a little suspicious. Firstly of Merlin's abrupt change in attitude and, of course, his eyes…

The region was hilly. Hummocks and dips and craters littering the area like the pockmarked cheek of a measles sufferer. As he thought about it, Arthur recalled the myth of the foundation of Rome – with Romulus and Remus and the she-wolf that raised them – had been based around the Seven Hills of Rome. And there, sprawled out in the middle of them, was the great city itself, looking like a piece of artwork rather than a settlement.

Significant landmarks stood above the maze of buildings: the Colosseum, the Circus Maximus and the Aqueduct of Claudius to name a few. As he stared upon the massive Colosseum, however, Arthur couldn't help but have flashbacks to their time in the Genua amphitheatre. They were not good memories.

Tearing his eyes away from the circular structure, he looked at Merlin and made a face.

"How the hell are we meant to land?"

"Why are you asking me?" Merlin retorted, looking befuddled.

Arthur frowned. "You got it into the air, now get it down."

"Er…" He felt his master clip the top of his head.

"Stop _procrastinating_, Merlin."

"Hitting my head and using big words is hardly going to help my brain, is it?" Merlin quipped, rubbing his raven crown.

"I don't think it will make _much _difference," Arthur drawled. He quirked an eyebrow.

"For the last time, my skull is not _that _thick."

"I still swear on my life that Hunith dropped you on your head as a baby," the prince said in all seriousness.

Merlin shot him a withering look and turned his attention to the task at hand. He had the option of either using his magic to bring the horse back down to earth or using a more manual approach. He opted for the more manual one – better to be on the safe side with Arthur getting suspicious. Reaching round the broad shoulders of the prince with some difficulty, the warlock pushed down on the horse's strong neck, then he leant forward and Arthur had no choice but to do the same.

Somehow, the horse seemed to get the message or perhaps it had decided that now was a good time to land and, with a sudden decrease in speed, it began a gradual descent from the skies.

"How come it didn't do that for me?" Arthur scowled, looking as if he had been betrayed by the creature.

"Softer touch," Merlin shrugged, a cheeky smile twitching his lips.

"A _girl's _touch, you mean."

"I am not a girl! Why do you _always _do this to me?" The boy pouted.

Arthur laughed. "I think it may be because of those expressions you pull. You just have a girlish face, Merlin; you'll have to deal with it."

"Just because I don't wield a sword like you do and have…" Merlin affected a swooning pose and his voice became simpering and melodramatic, "_Big _strong muscles and masculine _golden _hair and a _handsome _disposition, doesn't been I'm not manly."

Shaking with laughter, Arthur replied, "How can _hair _be masculine?"

"I really don't know!" Merlin chuckled in a high pitched voice.

"Then again, with your _raven _locks and those _baby_ blues you do look quite like-"

"Don't say Morgana, don't you _dare _say Morgana!"

"The _Lady _Morgana, Merlin, she does have a title you know."

Merlin crumpled, staring at him with a mock wounded expression on his pale face; he stuck out his bottom lip.

"Arthur, how could you?"

"Quite easily actually."

"You're an….ego-crushing prat."

"Right and you're a girly idiot. We all have our flaws." Arthur's smirk was so wide at this point that Merlin could have wiped the floor with it. He _wanted _to wipe the floor with it.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to retaliate as the ground appeared right below them in a greenish-brown blur. The horse's legs seemed to flail beneath them, momentarily, before they hit the earth with a bone-jolting thud. Merlin was nearly thrown clean off his back but he managed to cling on with his fingers digging into the flesh of Arthur's upper arm.

They skittered dangerously along the turf for a few terrifying seconds and both of them believed that they were about to be flung over the horse's head from the sheer force of the landing. Somehow, they managed to remain seated and eventually the animal came to a dignified stop, flexing its wings one last time and placing them neatly by its sides.

Arthur and Merlin were breathing heavily from the adrenalin rush.

With legs like jelly, the prince and the peasant slithered off the creature's smooth white back, careful not to dislodge any feathers as they went, and dropped inelegantly onto the floor. They wobbled for a few moments, unused to the feel of solid ground beneath their feet, clutching at one another like blind men.

"Whoa, that has to be one of the weirdest things I've ever experienced," Arthur said, blinking and looking around him. "Where are we? _Mer_lin, I thought I told you to land us in Rome."

"I did. Well, at least I thought I did."

Merlin too looked around him. They were on the outskirts of a settlement, admittedly, but it certainly wasn't the size or magnitude of Rome. A few little cottages sat unobtrusively against a cliff-face, lights glowing in their windows. It was dark by this point, the sun having dropped behind the mountains a couple of hours ago.

"Perhaps," the warlock pondered, "The horse brought us here."

"Really, do you think so?" Arthur asked, eagerly but something in the manservant's expression stopped him. "Wait. Are you mocking me?"

Merlin tried to look innocent, a little whistle escaping his lips. "_It's not me, it's the horse!_" he quoted word perfectly in the prince's indignant tone, recalling their journey to find Morgause. The smile that graced his face after that was insanely big.

"Oh, ha ha, you think you're so funny," Arthur sniped.

"I don't think, I know, besides, you told me I was funny."

Arthur looked sharply at him. "When?"

"When you were drunk."

"Obviously," the blond haired man smirked, "I was off my head. I didn't mean it."

"That's what Seg said," Merlin sighed, dramatically, "Then again, he also told me not to take you seriously when you told me that you 'love me'."

"_WHAT?!_"

"Hey, you know what," Merlin spread his arms, "Why don't we go ask at one of these houses where we are?"

With that, he flounced away, trying to look casual but really knowing that his master would be on his tail at any moment and probably pounding him into the ground. Still, it was so worth it to see the look on his face. They hadn't had much time to discuss the occurrences of what he had now dubbed Arthur's-completely-hammered-night-of-nonsensical-babble. He realised now that Arthur didn't remember any of it which would make his jibing and ribbing all the more fun.

As expected, the prince appeared by his elbow a few seconds later having tied their….winged friend to a tree. He didn't say anything but fell into step beside his servant.

"Did I really say that?" he finally asked more out of embarrassment than anything.

"Yup but it's all right, Arthur, I don't think anything less of you for that very unmanly moment of weakness."

"You really are a rat, Merlin," Arthur stated, punching him on the arm.

"Hmm…well, that may be the case but I can tell you one thing, I'm an observant rat."

"Huh?"

"See that drawing there."

"What? Where?"

Arthur looked to see where Merlin was pointing and caught sight of an engraving that had been carved very carefully into the wall and then painted with bright colours. Those colours must have come from crushing particular plants and sea-life in order to let the dye to seep out – that would then be turned in a paste.

A big white oval sat in the middle of a hungry cradle of flames.

"You know what; I think we may have found our egg," Merlin said, unable to hide the excitement and satisfaction in his voice.

"Surprisingly, I think you're right. Come on."

Hurrying through the quiet village, the boys searched for a house that still had candles burning in the windows and they found a low-slung timber structure that fit the bill. Knocking three times on the oak door, Arthur stood back, shifting from foot to foot impatiently. Eventually, the door creaked open to reveal a young woman, her hair tumbling down her slender shoulders and her eyes grey in the moonlight.

"_Salve?_"

"Er…" Arthur stumbled, "English." He pointed at himself.

She stared at him intensely for a second and Arthur felt himself tense with apprehension. Then she gave him a small apologetic smile and shook her head.

"She doesn't understand, what do we do?" he hissed at Merlin.

"We'll take her to the picture," the manservant decided. He stepped forward and gently took the girl's arm. "You come?"

Looking thoroughly uncertain and a little scared, the girl allowed herself to be led from her home and over the short distance to the tableau. Once they arrived, Merlin gestured at the picture and looked at her imploringly. Grey eyes scanning the image, she turned to the pair of them and nodded this time. Thank the gods, she had understood.

Arthur opened his mouth to stay something but was cut off by the sound of footsteps. He froze, tensing his shoulders and getting ready to leap into action. A middle aged man appeared from the shadows dressed in a magenta tunic that was adorned with fur and all sorts of gold trinkets – he looked like a priest of some kind. As it turned out, the prince wasn't far off with his guess.

"Melissa?" he called and he stopped when his gaze fell upon the three figures. Saying something in harsh Latin, he grabbed the scared girl away from them and glared at them, his eyes suspicious and angry.

Fortunately, the girl tapped his arm and whispered something in his ear. He paused in his rant, his expression remaining blank. Suddenly, he stared at them with dark brown eyes.

"You are English?" he said, slowly, struggling with the pronunciation.

"Yes!" Merlin and Arthur both leapt on the olive branch extended to them.

"I speak little," the man said, making a small space between his thumb and forefinger. "My name Tobias."

"Arthur." The prince gestured to himself. "And Merlin."

"What you want here? It is night."

"This egg, er, this here." Pointing at the oval on the wall, Arthur struggled to get his message across. "We would like to see it. Can we see it?"

Tobias frowned slightly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "That is god."

"God?"

"That is god of fire, one of many borne of Vulcan. It takes shape like that. Like…"

"An egg?"

"Yes," Tobias nodded but didn't sound entirely convinced, "Keeps our fires going. Never goes out. It is god. We sacrifice to him, give sheep and fruit."

"Right."

"It is sacred."

Arthur nodded as if he understood the man. However, inside, he was realising just how difficult this task may prove to be. If these people viewed the egg as an idol then what chance did he have of destroying it without them being very, very angry? He would guess next to nothing. He had believed that once they found the egg then it would all be plain sailing but obviously not.

"May we see it?" Merlin piped up.

"Yes," Tobias nodded. "Come this way."

Melissa followed the trio as they made their way through the throng of houses and passed beneath a stone archway that was charred like it had been put by something hot. Two torches burned merrily away in brackets on the structure and Tobias plucked on from its metal holder, gripping it in a weathered hand.

"I am keeper of temple," he explained as they travelled up a winding path.

It was well-trodden, suggesting years of use. What used to be rough rock was now smooth and shiny (Merlin slipped several times and had to be rescued by Arthur). More flaming torches lined the pathway and the prince wondered why Tobias needed the one in his hand. Maybe, it was just tradition.

They reached the mouth of a cave, a gaping hole in the side of the cliff, and both Merlin and Arthur stiffened before entering despite the heat that was emanating from within.

Once inside, they realised that the interior of the cave was just as light as the well-lit walkway outside as hundreds of torches lined the craggy walls and a huge semi-circle of fire crackled away at the back of the chamber. Massive flames licked the stone and left sooty, cracked marks. Their movements were almost entrancing as they cast dancing shadows across the cavern.

Mounted in the middle of this flaming semi-circle was a large egg – creamy white and round and beautiful. It was like the eye of the fire, staring out of them as blankly as a baby would on its first day in the world.

They had found it. They had found the last dragon egg.

**Aha, did you like the shameless quoting from the episode The Sins of Fathers. I love love love that bit with the horse. And Merlin says 'Great, so we're following the horse' in such a funny way.**


	19. Theft is the Answer

**Author's Note - Hey, guys, sorry for being such a noob about the chain thing. I COMPLETELY forgot. Lack of continuity on a big scale there I know. Perhaps, I've been getting subliminal messages from the Beeb on forgetting very important things. Sorry again. Thanks to peeps for pointing it out. Anyway, I've written the chapter and there's not really anyway I can fit it in so imagine they have been removed at some point. Sorry. **

**The last episode, I have to say, was pretty damn good. Well, up until the last five minutes. I mean what the **_**hell?**_**! Why did they have to make everyone die or be unconscious yet again so Merlin could perform his magic? Its getting a little old now. I want Arthur or **_**someone else **_**to know. Anyone! At the very least, Merlin should have taken the credit for defeating the dragon but no, he has to give it to Arthur. AGAIN!**

**Argh, sorry, it was a great episode other than that. Colin Morgan is a sublime actor. That's the be all and end all. Soooo good, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. **

…**Then again, that may have been because he'd **_**very **_**pretty :)**

**The banter was awesome also. I shall be taking tips. **

**Can't believe we have to wait another WHOLE year though :(**

The dream had been more vivid this time, as if he had actually been there witnessing all that had happened. He even felt the tears and the heart-break. So, when he opened his eyes and surveyed the dark, dank interior of the cave he knew it was time to act. It was time to send events rolling into action.

Rising to his feet, flexing creaking joints and shaking his head to rid himself of lingering images, the dragon prepared himself. He knew that already the motions had begun and he just needed to play his part in them to make sure all happened as it should. Fixing his gaze upon the mouth of the tunnel that led into his stone prison, the Great Dragon licked dry, scaly lips and wished that it could happen in a way other than this. It couldn't though, that was the point.

Footsteps.

That signalled the beginning. Rolling his shoulders, the dragon affected an indifferent expression as the figure marched into his midst. Straight-backed and with an air of superiority about him, it was undoubtedly the king himself. The dragon stared at him, huge luminous eyes shining in the dimness of the cavern.

"Uther," he said, calmly, "What brings you down into such a dark part of the castle?" No matter how hard he tried, the Great Dragon could never quite keep the loathing from tingeing his voice. This was, after all, the man that had imprisoned him for twenty years.

"Dragon," Uther's tone was equally measured, "I have come to visit you to ask a question."

"And why should I answer such a question when it is obvious I have nothing else to lose?" The dragon's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Uther seemed unperturbed. "You know of the last dragon egg?"

"What dragon egg?" questioned the dragon, innocently.

"Don't play the fool with me, Dragon," the king retorted, heatedly, "You know very well that I am speaking of the last of your kind except you."

"Why ask such a question if you know what my answer is?" the dragon asked, cocking his head.

"Because I have sent my son across the continent in order to find this egg and _destroy _it. Then you will be the last of your kind once more. Forever more."

The joy he took out of emphasising the word riled the Great Dragon more than he could have ever imagined – it cut deep into his soul. However, he could not react, that was not how it should happen. Instead, he levelled his gaze and curled his claws into the stone beneath his feet, digging them into the rough material.

"I too have sent an acolyte overseas to get the egg and save it from your tyrannical hands. He even travels in Prince Arthur's own party." A nasty smile curled the dragon's lips.

Uther's eyes widened and the vein in his temple throbbed. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"It is true. What reason would I have to lie to you? I cannot reach them; you cannot reach them; therefore we are merely bystanders."

"A _sorcerer_ travelling with my son?" Contempt dripped off the king's tongue like hot sulphur. "A _sorcerer_?!"

He brought calloused hands to his head, running them through silvery grey hair as he paced backwards and forwards. The dragon was correct; there was nothing that he could do. They would be in Italy now as they had been gone for over two months and perhaps they had even discovered the egg. Would the sorcerer kill his son in order to rescue the dragon egg? Which man was it, he wanted to know; they were knights not magicians. At least, that was what he had believed and now he had sent his son into a potential death trap.

Please let them return. Please.

"When they return," Uther rounded on the dragon, his grey eyes as cold as granite, "I will find out who the _sorcerer _is and have them executed. Should they return with the egg then that will also be destroyed. I will not rest until I have seen that both are dead!"

With that, the King of Camelot turned on his heel, his cloak whipping out behind him like a scarlet flag and he strode from the cave. The dragon, surprisingly, was completely silent behind him.

* * *

Gaius watched with anxiety welling inside of him as Uther stormed out of the door that led down the steps to the Great Dragon. His face was set in a fierce rage and his movements were stiff and purposeful. Whatever had happened down there could not have been good. He understood that the King had wanted to gloat and he wondered what on earth the dragon could have said to upset him in such a way.

As much as he was tempted to hurry down the stone staircase and ask the beast, he knew that was not a bright idea. Instead, he slipped from his hiding place among the drapes in the corridor (feeling very much like his eavesdropping nephew, in fact) and shuffled along the passage, hoping not to be spotted at this time. If a guard saw him then there was bound to be questions.

He was just as worried as Uther about how the quest was going. Obviously, it was not easy for Arthur to send word of his progress or whereabouts but Gaius knew that Merlin was a different case. It was possible for him to use his magic to contact the old physician or at least give some sign that he was still alive but he hadn't. Gaius was just as much in the dark as the rest of them. He believed that Gwen was suffering the worst, however, after all her two best friends after Morgana were on a death-defying mission miles and miles away. He had seen her moping around several times alone but when he approached her she resumed her usual sunny disposition.

And, perhaps more disconcertingly, the Lady Morgana's dreams had got worse. She would not tell Gaius what they were about but he could guess they troubled her from the way she held herself and the way the smiles never reached her eyes anymore.

He just wished that they would return. He wished that Merlin would return.

* * *

Both of the boys stared at the orb for a few moments, unable to quite believe their eyes; somehow, in the whole of Italy, they had found what they were searching for. It sat so unassuming on a bed of fire that licked at its smooth surface but never burnt it. To them, it didn't quite seem real. Arthur knew that he had lost two men to find this object, it was very, very important.

Enraptured by the sight still and pulled by some invisible force, Merlin moved towards the egg. His feet stepped one in front of the other on the ash-strewn ground without him even having to think. Soon, he found himself inches away from the crackling flames as they twisted and whirled into the air. He reached out a hand…

Only to be grabbed back roughly. The force sent him cascading backwards until he found himself sprawled on his bum on the floor; above him stood Arthur with a look of annoyance on his handsome face. "Merlin, what the hell were you thinking? Didn't Hunith ever tell you that fire is hot and it _burns_?"

"Really, I didn't know!" Merlin retorted, sarcastically, jumping to his feet and brushing himself down.

There was a slight cough to their left and they both wheeled around to see Tobias and Melissa standing there with identically perturbed expressions. The man was scratching the back of his head awkwardly. Seeing that they had been noticed, he stepped forward.

"Not fight, you stay here with egg and sort problems. We wait outside."

He offered them a nervous smile and caught Melissa's slender arm, pulling her out of the cave. The boys watched them leave with stunned looks. They hadn't expected it to be so easy to remove the guardians of the 'god' – Arthur had been planning on knocking them out and making a break for it. Now they could discuss things sensibly. Well, as sensibly as you could when it came to Merlin.

Glaring at each other, the peasant took up a position at one end of the temple and the prince at the other. Arthur crossed his muscular arms over his chest and looked expectantly at the boy; he could tell exactly when Merlin was about to have a rant or complain or just generally be irritating. As if on cue, the manservant opened his mouth: "I can look after myself, you know."

"You could have fooled me," Arthur replied, dryly.

"I'm not a child."

"Then don't act like one," the prince said.

Merlin's blue eyes narrowed but he said nothing. He couldn't believe that Arthur had the audacity to say such a thing. It was him that always acted like a petulant two year old in a temper tantrum, it was him that acted immaturely, it was him that still believed he could get what he wanted by demanding it. Really, it should be the manservant lecturing Arthur on how to behave and not the other way round. This grated on his nerves.

However, he shouldn't really be picking fights with his friend, not when so much was at stake. Somehow, he needed to persuade Arthur that it wasn't a good idea to destroy the egg and that they should bring it back to Camelot. He couldn't do that if he was on the prince's bad side. Therefore, he needed to calm down and think reasonably. What would Gaius do if he was faced with this situation…?

_CRACK_.

The boy reeled at the noise and his gaze snapped immediately to the source, his mouth dropping open. Arthur had just run full tilt at the egg and slammed the edge of his sword into the side of it. He should have realised that the prince was never one to wait around. He was too late. Heart thrumming in his chest, Merlin stepped unconsciously toward the egg as if that would do something to help.

"No," a small whisper of loss and pain escaped his lips.

And then his sapphire eyes widened as he realised that, in fact, it was not the egg that had cracked but Arthur's blade. The damage was visible instantly as the golden haired man pulled his weapon away and watched in stunned silence as the end of it dropped onto the floor, clanging against a stone on the descent. He was left with a jagged stump clutched in his hand.

"I don't believe it," Arthur said, slowly, looking from his broken blade to the egg and back again. The shell of the egg remained completely unblemished.

"It didn't work," Merlin stated, relief flooding his body.

"Well done, Merlin," Arthur snapped, "You really are using that servant-brain of yours today."

Merlin knew that his friend was insulting him to cover up his own embarrassment but he couldn't help be hurt by such a barb. It was a low blow considering all that he had done for the king's son. Steeling himself, he pretended to shrug the comment off and walked over to his master, running a slender finger over the sharp end of Arthur's sword. The other man drew it away with a sudden intake of breath.

"Merlin, for crying out loud, what are you doing?! You don't touch sharp things either. Bloody hell, you just can't avoid hurting yourself, can you?"

"What are you going to do?" Merlin asked, ignoring what had been said. His eyes were fixed on the pale orb.

"It's an egg," Arthur finally said, "How the hell am I meant to _kill _an egg?"

Merlin looked pensive and then said the first thing that came into his head: "Boil it?"

Astonishingly, Arthur spluttered with laughter. "You know Merlin, if I happened to have a very, very large saucepan of hot water at my disposal then that wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Then again," Merlin continued, feeling that perhaps they were back on track, "We could poach it, fry it…scramble it."

"Yeah, we could throw it off a cliff, then it would be scrambled," Arthur agreed, jokingly.

The manservant backtracked quickly, realising that could potentially work. "Or perhaps we should just take it back to the castle with us. Er…then your father can decide what he wishes to do with it."

Arthur seemed to observe his friend for a few minutes, considering. His face was a picture of concentration as he weighed up his options. Although the prince was a good knight and strategist he had no idea how to handle the situation he had landed himself in. Maybe Merlin's idea was the safest. However, that did make it even more difficult to get the egg out without upsetting the locals. It was about the size three feet tall, hardly inconspicuous, and he didn't have any idea as to how much it actually weighed. Of course, they had the horse outside that if they reached then they could make an escape but it was a matter of getting there.

"Right, I have a plan."

* * *

They had spent the next day amidst the villagers, gaining their trust. It had not been easy because both of them had been itching to get a move on back to the knights and then back home. However, if they were to be allowed near the egg again then they would have to get the villagers and Tobias especially to believe they were merely wanderers that had strayed off the path. It was difficult to explain their lack of belongings and the loose ends of the chains which had been recently cut hanging from their wrists but their curiosity had been sufficiently quenched by a particularly good tale spun by Arthur. Merlin had watched on in amazement; he'd never had a talent for lying. His mother always told him that was a good thing but he wasn't so sure considering the monumental secret he was meant to conceal.

Dusk had fallen and the fireflies were filling the darkening sky, amassing around the forestland that surrounded them. They were beautiful, enchanting creatures that, when gathered, seemed to create sparkling pictures. Arthur had always loved the incandescent insects ever since he was a small boy, trying to catch them in a pot to keep them forever. Lightning bugs, that's what his nursery maid had called them when he brought them home. Unfortunately, every time he brought them out in the morning they had all died; their once glowing bodies dim and lifeless.

They seemed to be in abundance here but perhaps that was because of the dragon's egg that resided so close by – the heart of a fire. Merlin was surrounded by the insects, he noticed, as they illuminated his pale face in such a way that Arthur was astounded at his features. He had never thought of Merlin as handsome, endearing perhaps, but when he heard chambermaids gossiping about the boy he had never understood their infatuation. As prince and knight, he was generally considered the most attractive man in the kingdom. However, Merlin had a kind of coltish beauty about him – all knobbly limbs, charming smiles and huge blue eyes framed with long lashes. His cheekbones were accentuated by the light from the fireflies and when he caught the prince staring at him he grinned.

The prince realised that he was lucky to have him as a friend; he found himself hoping that one day his servant would find someone to love him for who he was. He deserved it after all.

But for now, Merlin would just be his clumsy manservant who could never get anything right and always annoyed Arthur something terrible.

"Merlin, what's that on your face?" he asked, amusedly.

"Huh? What?" The boy reached up to his cheek, brushing the skin quickly.

"No, I'm talking about the garden that seems to have sprouted on your chin," Arthur smirked, knocking a flat palm into the side of Merlin's face. Bristles contacted with his skin. "It feels like a horse brush, Merlin!"

"It's just stubble," Merlin said, defensively.

"You're growing a beard. Trying to be manlier after I called you a girl, eh?"

"No, I mean yes but no…my razor broke so I stopped shaving. It's easier anyway and the weather's so damn cold that it's good insulation." Merlin rubbed his shadowed face embarrassedly.

"It suits you," Arthur shrugged.

"Is that a compliment?" Merlin grinned, "And you're not drunk! Wait until I tell Seg."

"Shut up, Merlin, we need to get this show on the road." Night was blanketing the land and they needed to act fast. "Go be the distraction. I'll get the egg."

"Why do _I _always have to be the distraction?" Merlin moaned.

"It's your womanly wiles, Merlin, you get them every time." Arthur laughed and shoved him in the opposite direction before hurrying off towards the path that led up to the temple.

It wasn't really much of a plan to be honest. It never was. Arthur had got Tobias suitably drunk earlier and discovered from him that the temple was not in anyway booby trapped and that the guards which were often posted at the bottom of the path often changed places just as dusk blended into night. At that point, the rest of the village would be slipping into bed.

He felt bad, of course he did, as he climbed the deserted path and crept into the cave but he had to collect this egg for his father. It was his duty to protect his kingdom and any other kingdom from the destruction that this one egg could cause. If he didn't then, essentially, he would be allowing the deaths of thousands of innocents – he would be murdering them. Therefore, this must be done.

Grimly, he walked over to the plinth where the creamy egg stood and braced himself. Tobias had informed him that the flames would not burn anyone should they touch the egg for less the five seconds. Any longer than that and they would lose an arm to the fire. It was a gamble but he was willing to take it. With a deep breath, he leant forward, through the flames, and grabbed the smooth surface of the egg. For a moment he thought it was going to slip through his fingers but it came away in his grip and he whipped it out of its place, dumping it on the floor as soon as he could.

Breathing heavily, he looked anxiously around him to see if anyone had turned up to see what he was doing but he was alone. Thank the gods. Hefting the ovular object up again, he hurried out of the cave and stumbled awkwardly down the pathway, sending stones skittering and skating away from him.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear yelling. That was, undoubtedly, Merlin's distraction. He just hoped he was drawing the relieving-guards away from their posts rather than towards. He often did have a shoddy sense of direction.

Leaping down the final incline and shifting the uncomfortable load in his arms into a better position, Arthur glanced around him, assessing the area. They had moved the horse - which for some reason unknown to the prince, Merlin had dubbed Pegasus - close by so that it was easier to reach. He knew that it stood among those fir trees, shielded by shadows and branches. In fact, he could have sworn he could hear its gentle breathing.

However, he needed to wait for Merlin. He couldn't very well leave the boy behind when it was so obvious that they were the ones who had stolen the egg. Tiptoeing into the woodland, Arthur found the shimmering white horse and placed the egg on top of its strong back, swinging himself on behind it. It nestled precariously between his thighs. Then, he waited.

The cries grew louder and Arthur's ears pricked up as he heard footsteps approaching. There was a rustling in the undergrowth as his grubby, white-eyed manservant staggered out of the bushes and ran towards him. In a flying leap that could have rivalled a frog, Merlin stretched out his legs and crashed into the side of the horse, scrabbling on smooth fur with desperate fingers. The beast lurched, startled, but Arthur grabbed hold of the boy's cloak and dragged him on. Then he urged Pegasus into a gallop and they took off into the sky.

Behind them, the anguished, furious yells of the villagers could be heard.

Once they knew they were safe, they both relaxed, staring at the crescent moon for a few peaceful minutes.

"You have _really_ long legs," Arthur finally said.

"I do?"

"Yeah, they're like….grasshopper legs."

Merlin's mouth fell open. "What? They are not!"

"No, really, you have the legs of a grasshopper, Merlin."

"Yeah, well, you have the intelligence of a….potato."

**Okay, I can take no credit for the grasshopper bit. Nor the procrastinating bit in the last chapter (Though how flippin' awesome was the bit when Merlin said supercilious. It sounded like something I would have written. Lol) They are from Rixxispooks. She demanded I include her Ultimate Theory of Grasshopper Legs that apparently can be applied to Colin Morgan as well as Harry Lloyd now. **

**Please review!**


	20. Returning to Genua

**Author's Note - Whoop, we've finally reached Chapter 20, not that that means anything. :) Thanks for all the great reviews. I really hope you enjoy this chapter; I was determined to get it out there for you before the big day. Call it a Christmas gift. **

**By the way, in the future there may be some hints of the latest episode of Merlin and the Dragonlord side of him. Thing is, I've kind of set this before that even happened. Morgana hasn't even gone in my story. And if I was to make Merlin a Dragonlord then it would go against what Beeb said about father dying so son can have power. Hmm….I suppose I could bend the rules. **

**_thermopolium -_** **inn/pub/fast food place**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

The sky was streaked orange in the early morning; low clouds glowing with a soft amber edge as the sun crept up from behind the mountains, catching the fluffy pale purple outlines with its gentle rays. Peeping from between the cloud-cover was the washed out blue of the heavens. Uneven forestland cloaked the ground in a veil of black silhouettes, branches twisted like the gnarled limbs of an old man.

Little stirred in the dawn because, although winter was ending, the creatures had not yet come out of the hibernation and the undergrowth was not teeming with the usual wildlife of nattering squirrels, hedgehogs, slimy toads and snakes. It was all but silent except for the occasional fox that slipped like a russet phantom through the naked trees.

A strange sound could be heard like the flapping of a sheet in the wind. It was in no way loud but certainly audible in the quiet of daybreak. If one was to look up into the sky then they would see, contoured against the pastel backdrop, a dark shadow, foreign to the human eye. It was a horse and yet it had the magnificent wings of a bird; feathered and gleaming white, tinted burnt orange like the clouds that were suspended above it.

_Whumph_.

Another downward beat of its great wings propelled it through the heavens, surfing on a tide of compressed air. Its muscular neck stretched out in front, arched like a longbow, as its angular head was held high against the buffeting gusts of wind which were icy and unyielding. Large, chocolate-brown eyes blinked on a glossy white face as it surveyed the world beneath its feet – although it had literally taken its recent change in anatomy in its stride such freedom was still very new.

On its strong back, nestled safely between the massive wings, were two slumped figures enveloped in the comfortable arms of sleep. One blond, one black and between them rested an oversized. One man's drooping head lolled lifelessly on the horse's neck whilst the other man's reposed easily on the shoulder of the one in front, his left cheekbone tucked into small of his back.

They had slept through the night, exhausted by their previous escapades and the general draining nature of their quest. Neither had time to rest properly since before….well, not for awhile; Merlin, especially, considering his debilitating illness, his abrupt kidnapping and everything else that had occurred. He had been first to succumb to his tiredness, dropping onto Arthur's back. At first, the prince had protested, shrugging in an attempt to dislodge the boy, but then, as he craned his neck to look at his manservant, he saw his shadowed eyes and pale skin. With a pang of sympathy that he rarely experienced, Arthur resigned himself to having his friend snooze on him. He definitely needed it.

It was not long after that he too had fallen asleep.

Pegasus had travelled on, despite the loss of his riders' guidance; he merely flew in the direction from which they had first come, back to the city where he was born. It was not difficult as he had an inbuilt navigation system. He delighted at the speed of his flight and soon the sprawling array of buildings came into sight: temples, senate buildings, forums, marketplaces, amphitheatres and city courts. Their orange slate roofs glimmering in the sun that had now clambered a little higher out of hiding.

Very few citizens were up at this time and the streets were almost deserted so no one spotted the winged beast that began its descent from the sky. With a gentle clatter of hooves, the creature landed at a run in an empty side road and slowed down to a steady walk. This was all done with the utmost care so that its new masters did not waken. Eventually, it halted at a trough of water and lowered its head, taking grateful gulps of the cool liquid. Then the creature's breath misted in the air as it took stock of its surrounding. White-washed walls stood either side of the street so the horse's coat blended in well and the windows of the nearby buildings were high up so there was nobody overlooking. They were alone.

It was time to wake up its passenger.

Starting a wiggle at its neck, shaking its head from side to side, Pegasus sent a vibration down the whole length of its body. There was a small groan but they still didn't seem to be stirring. After several more attempts, the horse grew bored and turned round so it could look at the pair of them. With a frustrated whinny, it bonked the golden haired one on the head with its nose. That woke him up.

"Huh?" Arthur uncurled, groggily. "Merlin!"

"Wha-?" The manservant's head snapped up and he looked around him, blearily, scouting for unseen danger.

"Did you just hit me, Merlin?" the prince demanded.

Merlin frowned. "No." He paused. "At least I don't think I did." He scratched his head and then shrugged. "I bet it was Pegasus."

"Don't be stupid, Merlin," Arthur shook his head, condescendingly.

"So, when did we land?"

"I don't know. I thought you landed us."

"I didn't."

"Then how?"

Merlin grinned. "Must have been the horse."

An amused snort from in front confirmed this as the horse tossed its head and Arthur's indigo eyes widened in astonishment. "Dear god, I think that animal has more intelligence than you, Merlin."

"Well, he certainly has a sense of humour," the boy spluttered as the horse snickered and stamped its hooves on the cobbles.

"Hey, hey, shhh!" Arthur rubbed the animal's neck. "We don't want to wake the _entire_ neighbourhood. That tends to be Merlin's job." He looked around. "Where are we anyway?"

"Genua, I think," Merlin replied, slipping down off the horse's back and stretching gratefully. Arthur yawned as he watched him.

The boy ran a slender hand through his already messy hair and then retied his loosened scarf. All his clothes had taken quite a battering throughout this journey and he'd even gained some new ones on behalf of Arthur – the burgundy one he'd taken to especially as it was much softer than his own shirts. Unfortunately, he'd lost his cloak when he was taken to the amphitheatre but spring was soon to come so he hoped to hold out until then. There were several tears and holes in his beloved jacket as well. Perhaps, he could get a new one when he returned to England. Thankfully, he still retained his red scarf.

"How the hell did this horse fly us all the way back here with no instructions?" Arthur said in disbelief.

"Beats me. We need to find the others though. We've been away for about three days, they could be anywhere."

"We should probably go back to the amphitheatre," Arthur decided and saw Merlin shudder, "But this time we'll be better prepared. I doubt they'll be there but perhaps we can get clues as to where they escaped to. It will take awhile but we need them."

"What are we going to do with Pegasus?"

"Set him free."

"What?!" Merlin's eyes grew wide. "You can't."

Arthur turned and looked at him face on. "Merlin, we can hardly return to the others with a winged horse. They will ask questions and I….well, to be frank, I have no idea what happened. Do you?"

"Er…no."

"There you go then. Besides, it would be kinder to let him fly free. Such a….magnificent creature should not be tethered to human masters. I thought that would please you considering how often you go on about the feelings of animals." Arthur grinned and poked his manservant in the ribs.

"I guess you're right."

"Makes a change. Usually you say everything I do is wrong."

Walking over to the horse, he pulled their few possessions and the dragon egg down from its back. Placing them carefully on the floor, he then patted the animal's snowy nose and ran a hand down its smooth back so his fingers glanced, momentarily, off those stunning wings. Then he gazed thoughtfully into the beast's brown eyes and nodded once.

Pegasus seemed to get the message as it snorted once and unfurled its wings, ready for flight. Merlin quickly said goodbye; sad to see one of his most inspired creations vanishing into the Italian sky, probably never to be seen again. However, before he let it go he did whisper a gentle incantation so that if the horse ever wished to find him then it could. Somehow, he knew that it would have better things to do than visit him though – as much as he could feel his own destiny, he knew that Pegasus had a colourful one too.

Once both boys had bid their farewells and offered their thanks, the horse wheeled round, his muscles bunching up in his legs as he galloped the length of the street. With a final push down of his hooves on the hard ground, he launched himself into the air and climbed swiftly into the sky. Eventually, he was just a black dot against a purple-blue backdrop.

"Come on, Merlin."

* * *

They had returned to the amphitheatre to find it empty and abandoned; not just because it was still early morning but because, from what they could see, it had been closed down. Asking a nearby homeless man (offering him a coin in return for his information) he had told them that after an incident that happened earlier in the week where several convicts escaped into the crowds and endangered their lives, the place had been shut until further notice. When asked what had happened to the escapees, he had known very little except that they had been seen fleeing to east of the city, towards the outlying villages.

Their hopes renewed, the pair slipped across the city, sticking to back alleys generally so they would not be seen by anyone they didn't want to be seen by. On the way, they stopped off at a rundown market stall that was selling slightly dodgy looking hot sausages. Neither of them particularly cared as they were famished and wolfed the spicy meat down with gusto. They reached the eastern edge of the settlement just as the people were coming out of their homes and filling the streets with buzzing chatter, clattering pans, excitable children and domestic animals.

A scruffy dog passed by, its tail wagging as it spotted the two men and its pink tongue lolling out. Merlin paused for a few seconds, staring at it. Ever since giving the horse wings he had toyed with the idea of giving _every _single creature he saw the gift of flight. That probably wasn't the best idea but it was certainly a tempting thought.

Fortunately, Arthur dragged him from his imaginings by plonking the cumbersome egg in his arms. With a grunt of surprise, Merlin shot the other man an annoyed look. The prince just shrugged and informed him that it was his turn with 'the blasted thing'.

As the houses thinned out, glimpses of greenery could be seen through the stone buildings and the travellers realised that winter was truly breaking as the snow was pretty much gone. Grass could be seen and the coniferous trees were no longer frosted with icy crystals. Spring was seeping through, even to the extent that a few early wildflowers were pushing their delicate heads through the hard-packed ground.

In the distance, several villages could be seen clustered together and Arthur assumed that was where the homeless man had meant. He truly hoped that his knights were hidden there and that nothing bad had befallen them.

Setting out on foot across the countryside, he wished they had stopped to grab a couple of normal horses from a stable somewhere. Everything seemed to take so much longer when you didn't have the legs of a powerful beast beneath you – even more so now he had experienced the speed of flying. It was like trudging through tar.

* * *

They reached the villages about half an hour later and smiled in greeting to several peasants who had begun their daily task: feeding hens, grooming horses, setting out into the fields with muscular oxen, lighting fires for the blacksmiths. A rich aroma reached Arthur's nostrils, swirling into the cavities like a tantalising spirit, urging him to follow the smell. Although the hot sausage had quelled his hunger a little, the smell of further food just served to waken the starving monster within.

Astoundingly for a village, there was a _thermopolium _situated in the centre and it had just opened its doors for any early risers. Arthur practically dived inside, hoping for three things: food, warmth and any information on their comrades' whereabouts. Drawing up a pair of chairs into the corner of the inn, they ordered their breakfast of stuffed dates and bread. Arthur found his mouth watering; taste buds tingling with excitement. Glancing over at Merlin, he saw the boy looked tired rather than hungry, melting his chair like a wizened old man. Surely, the manservant's appetite could not have been sated by the meagre sausage? Well, his mental hunger probably had but whether he was physically full was another question. Merlin tended to ignore that.

Once again, purpose shining in his eyes, Arthur began plying the boy, surreptitiously, with food as soon as it arrived. He held back himself in order to allow Merlin more food. It was difficult but certainly worth it when he saw the peasant eat three slices of bread and several dates. Obviously, his skinny frame did not suddenly bulk out but Arthur has a renewed determination now they had found the egg and he would make sure his servant put on weight.

The egg itself was nestled between his knees under the table, as if he was actually the mother guarding his young. There was nothing that could separate him from the object.

As he sat, watching Merlin eat, he decided that now was perhaps a good time to broach some of the things that had been left unsaid for too long. He needed to address the problems and worries that had been gnawing at him for the majority of this journey. Once Merlin had gulped down another date and slumped back in his chair, well and truly stuffed, Arthur leant forward, resting his forearms on the table, and looked straight at his manservant.

"Merlin, I wanted to ask you about something-"

_Crash_.

The sound was enormous and accompanied by a cacophony of yells and screams. Arthur was on his feet in an instant and two strides towards the door before the second _crash _occurred. Merlin was a pace behind him and the two of them barrelled outside the _thermopolium_. They were greeted by an ugly scene.

A group of men were gathered outside and two of them were grappling ferociously in the middle of a loose semi-circle. They clawed at each other like rabid dogs in a fighting ring – eyes wild and limbs flailing. Fists connected with soft flesh and grunts of pain and fury reverberated off the surrounding houses. The crowd that watched them seemed unsure of what to do, dodging in and out in an effort to stop them.

Between the fence of bodies, Arthur could make out flashes of red and gold. Pendragon colours. It couldn't be…

Darting forward, he shoved apart the spectators and froze when he caught sight of the two muscular men writhing on the ground. One was black haired and tanned; the other long-limbed and blond. Morholt and Segwarides. They looked set on killing one another.

The thud of his own heart in his ears spurred Arthur into action and he jumped into the fray, grabbing at random body parts in order to drag them apart. Eventually, he caught Morholt's leg and yanked him away from Segwarides; he squirmed like a worm in the dirt, fisted hands reaching out for his opponent.

"Let me go!" he bellowed, eyes flashing with anger. He tried to lash out at the stupid interferer that he could not see.

"I will not be spoken to like that, Morholt," Arthur shouted back, easily twisting the man into a position where he had the point of his knee digging into the fellow's back. Morholt's face, flattened into the ground, was a contorted picture of shock.

"Sire!" he moaned, "I did not mean….I did not know…."

"I think you should be thankful to _whoever _had pulled you out of such a ridiculous and frankly disgusting fight with a comrade, even if it wasn't me," Arthur stated, his tone calm but laced with fury. "I did not expect to return to Genua and find my knights fighting among _themselves_. It is a disgrace. Explain yourselves."

He looked from Morholt to Segwarides and back again. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Merlin hovering at the edge of crowd eyeing Morholt warily. Arthur wondered what was wrong with him.

Segwarides pulled himself gingerly to his feet and then stared down at the other man with contempt darkening his eyes. His clothes were torn and the Pendragon crest had been ripped clean off his shirt. His short blond hair was rumpled and Arthur noticed an ugly wound on his temple that was raw and red and only recently cleaned by the looks of things. Strangely, he recognised it as a blow that could be caused by the pommel of a sword – it was the right shape and depth. He couldn't have sustained it in this fight. However, he also sported a split lip and a blackened eye which were remnants of this shameful scuffle.

"Segwarides," Arthur said, warningly, "Tell me what happened. What is the cause of this fight?"

The young knight stared at him for a few moments, his chest still heaving with the exertion of having just fought and his knuckles still flexed by his sides. They were cracked and bleeding.

"He…." Segwarides began abruptly then stopped, closing his mouth and collecting himself. Then he tried again with a deep breath. "Morholt is the cause."

"How so?" Arthur queried.

"He's a liar!" Morholt roared, struggling to free himself, bucking under Arthur's foot. The prince just increased the strength with which he held him; twisting his arm up behind his back so far it was almost at breaking point. "LET ME GO!"

Arthur frowned. "Calm down, Morholt. This isn't helping matters." The knight relaxed beneath his grip but only slightly. "Continue Seg."

Glaring at the dark haired knight, Seg's tone had a hard edge. "He threatened to kill me."

"He what?"

"Threatened to kill me, my lord. We were at the amphitheatre and you were still fighting the elephant. I did not want leave. However, Morholt told me that if I did not then he would either slice of my arm or kill me."

"_LIES_!" Morholt shrieked.

Segwarides made a movement as if to attack him once more but Arthur shot him a quelling look. He stopped, dropping his fists. "I would still not go so he knocked me out. That's how I received this." He gestured to the bloody wound. "We were fighting because he's a deceitful, bullying, disgusting excuse for a knight. Merlin will tell you, won't you Merlin?"

Everyone's gaze (even the spectators who had no idea what was going on) turned upon the skinny servant boy who froze like a rabbit cornered by a hunter. His whole body went stiff – a movement Arthur recognised from when he was an anxious or uncertain.

"Merlin?" he asked, hesitantly.

Seeming to ignore everyone else present, the boy's brilliant blue eyes drilled straight into his own with an intensity that almost knocked him backwards.

"I told you before," he said and then left, vanishing among the watchful crowd.

**Everything is coming to a head! Whoop!**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS AGAIN!**


	21. Molten Ruby

**Author's Note – I hope you all had a fantastic Christmas. I certainly did. I loved being round all my friends and family. Now I've got older I've realised that I can actually talk to my aunts and uncles like real people rather than scary grown ups who ask loads of questions when all I want to do is play :-) **

**Sorry for the wait on this chapter. It was really hard to write for some reason and even now, as I post it, I don't think its one of my best. Sorry. **

**Thanks especially to WhiteOwl05 for practically reviewing each of my chapters in the past few days and bringing my review total up to 400! I've never got that many reviews before. THANK YOU ALL! **

Arthur hesitated.

He had watched the back of his manservant disappear into the crowd and he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to go after him or not. There had been an unfamiliar frustration in his eyes – anger even. The fact that he didn't get angry often, not like Arthur, meant his emotions and words were even more potent. It was like a dam inside of him had broken and everything just spewed forth in a raging torrent of frothing water.

Every muscle in his body was screaming for him to go but he knew that he needed to sort out what was happening here before he could run after Merlin, no matter how much he wanted to.

Lifting his foot up, he watched as Morholt rolled his shoulders and scrambled to his feet. There was still a fierce element to his expression and a definite aggressiveness to his stance. He was like a bull that wouldn't back down from a fight. Seg, his rival, stared at him with cold eyes and a detachment that made Arthur realise that he was over the heat of the brawl. The blond haired man, despite being a competent knight of Camelot, did not draw arms unnecessarily which is why Arthur took his words at face value now.

"Can I leave you two now?" Arthur said, slowly and firmly, "In the knowledge that I will not return and find you at each other's throats like a pair of wolves?" Pausing, he looked around. "Where are the others?"

It was Sir Segwarides that offered him the answer. "At the local infirmary, sire. Sir Tristram had a particularly bad injury to his leg from one of the lions and it became infected. He's being treated by the best physician they have, Sir Erec made sure of that. And the others…." He frowned, sadness passing across his face. "Well, you know what happened to them."

"They will not be forgotten," Arthur stated, solemnly, placing a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "But I need to find Merlin now. I will be back soon." Then he turned to face Morholt, his blue eyes as dark and stormy as the ocean. "I do not know if what has been said is true but I am very sad to say that all the evidence points in that direction. I expected better from you, Morholt. I will get Merlin's side of the story and when we return I hope you are ready for whatever punishment comes your way."

Looking indignant, Morholt stepped towards the prince and raised a hand to emphasis his point. "Don't believe anything he says, my lord. It's all lies. He's just a servant."

Arthur, who had been in the process of leaving, whipped back round and practically growled, "He may be _just _a servant, Morholt, but I think I can judge his words for myself, don't you?"

"Sire…" Morholt bowed his head, contritely.

Satisfied, Arthur strode purposefully passed the spectators, ignoring their confused whispers and pointing fingers. There was determination emanating from his body; he _would _get to the bottom of this. Merlin had clammed up for the last time.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Merlin wasn't difficult to find. After all, he wasn't the best at covering his tracks and he tended to pick the most obvious places in order to sulk. On several occasions, the prince had offended the boy and searched for him all over the castle to apologise only to find him holed up in his pokey bedroom. If he wasn't there then he'd be by that damn lake in the middle of the forest that always seemed to fascinate him for hours on end – Arthur guessed it held a certain significance to Merlin that he could not fathom.

This time he discovered him leaning on a tower of barrels, arms crossed over his chest and the toe of his boot dug into the soft mud beneath his feet, scuffing up dirt. There was a knot in his forehead and that same intensity in his eyes that Arthur had seen just a few minutes ago as he stared at the ground. It was obvious that he'd heard the prince arrive because his stance changed slightly but he did not acknowledge his friend's presence.

Feeling a bit awkward as he was never one with words, Arthur scratched the back of his head and coughed a little. Merlin's scuffing only faltered a little. Sighing, the prince wandered tentatively over to him and leant on the barrel beside him. They both stood there for a time in mutual silence.

Finally, Arthur broached the quiet with a tentative question. "What exactly did you mean by 'I told you before'?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Merlin mumbled.

"What?"

Merlin snorted but still didn't make eye contact. "I said, 'Isn't it obvious?'"

Arthur frowned. "No. Why should it be? You know, Merlin, you could try being a _bit _more helpful-"

"You're right, its not _you _that's the problem it's _me_," the boy said, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Hang on, Merlin, I didn't mean-"

Merlin moved so abruptly that Arthur flinched away. The young man pushed his shoulder off the sturdy wooden barrel and threw his hands in the air, wielding round on his master. His jaw was set with an unfamiliar defiance.

"May I ask why _exactly _does Sir Segwarides' word carry more weight than mine?"

"Huh?"

"You even took _Morholt's _half-cocked version of events rather than my own. Why can't you ever see the obvious even when it's staring you right in the face?!"

"Is this about the mountains incident because I thought we'd already sorted that? It was a simple misunderstanding," Arthur said, visibly confused. He was trying to listen to Merlin's side of the story but to be honest he was making it very difficult.

"Oh yeah, the same way as Morholt threatening to sell me as a slave was a simple _misunderstanding_? And trying to throw me off the ship was a little _misunderstanding_? And perhaps even tipping off the gladiator slave dealer that there was a potential catch on the street? Plus all the times in-between when he insulted me, hurt me and denied me food when you weren't looking. I mean _look _at me, Arthur!"

Brandishing himself like some animal to be inspected in the market, Merlin stretched his arms and then let them drop by his sides with a somewhat dejected emphasis. He stared his master in the eyes, willing him to believe what he had said, willing him to understand what he had been through.

And Arthur _did _look.

Merlin could only be described as haggard. Like an old man. With a horrifying awareness, Arthur suddenly realised he had been referring to his manservant like an old man an awful lot lately. It hadn't been a conscious change but a change nonetheless. Physically, the peasant boy was gaunt and sickly in colour with huge purple rings under his eyes that made him look like a corpse rather than a living thing. His skin seemed to have lost its elasticity – no doubt from the malnutrition and prolonged exposure to the elements – and was peppered with wounds both from the lion in the arena and Morholt's hand. His hair hadn't faired much better than his skin; once glossy black it was now lacklustre and unkempt. The stubble on his chin that Arthur had mocked him for only hours before had a new resonating significance: Merlin had just stopped caring.

There was a dullness to him that was a complete opposite to his normally enthusiastic, puppy-dog personality. He moved with effort rather than exuberance. Before, you could tell that he had a love for life and now he just seemed to be dragging his limbs along like unwanted lumps of driftwood. His quips had become rarer. Yes, they did come but was it with the usual charm and gentle nature?

It was like he had lost his spark. When had Merlin aged and how had Arthur not even noticed?

"Is this because of Morholt?"

Arthur reached forward and gripped the young man's wrist, finding to his astonishment and disgust that he could wrap his entire hand round it. It was skeletal and as fragile feeling as a bird bone. He desperately wanted to retract his fingers but there was somewhat of a morbid fascination holding him there. Merlin's skin felt paper thin too – like the membrane of a flower. Beneath the delicate layer he could feel the steady pulse of his manservant but he could also see the veins through which the blood. They were blue cords standing rigid in a complex map across his forearm; much like the branches of a river.

"Merlin…" he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief and shock.

Periwinkle eyes met indigo and the two boys stared at one another, enraptured.

With a fury that Arthur hadn't realised he was possible of he said, "I _will _make Morholt pay for this."

A muscle twitched in Merlin's jaw as he shook his head slowly. "I don't want you to make him pay. I just want you to make him _stop_."

It actually hurt Merlin to admit that he needed Arthur to help him stop the bullying. He had thought he could handle it, after all ever since he was a small boy he had stood up to those who looked down on him, who thought him puny and insignificant. He had a strong spirit, as his mother had told him time and time again, like an unbreakable horse.

However, he had been worn away, like a limestone cliff: bashed and broken and fast disappearing. Having had the three days away with Arthur had been great, it had been a release but returning and coming face to face with Morholt – the man who would quite happily kill him – had really sucked the life from him. There was only so long that someone could put up with constant bullying until they broke. Seg had only helped fracture the blockade but the pressure had been building up long before that.

He was ready to give up. Therefore, spilling his guts to Arthur was both a relief and a terrible disgrace. Any second now and he was bound to burst into tears like the girl Arthur always called him.

"Merlin, he can't away with this," Arthur began. The anger still bubbled in his chest.

"You've lost enough knights already, Arthur, you _need _him," Merlin said, "Besides, I'm just a servant. Plenty of masters beat their servants. I am just fortunate enough to have one that doesn't." He offered the prince a small smile.

Arthur, however, was not impressed. "Not many masters try to _kill_ their staff. It's despicable. I can't believe I didn't realise and that I took his word for it."

"Well, you aren't exactly the most observant of people, Arthur," Merlin murmured, wryly.

"Hey," Arthur protested and went to cuff his friend in the playful admonishing manner he usually did but stopped himself, realising that it could do more harm than he intended. "I resent that."

"I think I have enough proof to make your objection moot."

The familiar grin worked its way onto Merlin's face and the prince felt like a great weight had been lifted from him. Obviously, this wasn't over but it didn't look like Merlin would be maintaining his simmering anger for too long. He had no stamina that was the problem; Arthur could make an argument last days.

"Fair point," Arthur said and slung a slightly tentative arm over Merlin's shoulders. The bones stuck into him and he tried not to wince. "Shall we return to the others?"

"Er…" Merlin looked unsure again, like a frightened little boy and the prince felt the rage rise inside him once more. "I guess."

"I won't let him hurt you," Arthur stated, softly.

"Ha," Merlin grinned, "Its not me I'm worried about; it's him. You're quite scary when you're angry, you know."

"_You _shouldn't feel anything towards him, Merlin. Come on."

* * *

They found them at the infirmary: Segwarides, Erec, Tristram and Morholt. In fact, they were just leaving as the manservant and his master arrived. Tristram was hobbling on a crutch tucked beneath his armpit; his leg was swathed in white bandages. His baby blue eyes lit up when he caught sight of Arthur and he wobbled forward with a huge smile on his young face. The prince came to meet him halfway so he didn't have to cover so much ground with his injury and clasped his elbow in a gesture of friendship, offering him a bright – if slightly strained – grin. Unfortunately, his gaze kept straying to Morholt and therefore the expression could have been more genuine.

"You all right, Tristram?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, they fixed my leg up pretty well all things considering."

"Good. Good. You'll make a full recovery?"

"They said I would. I'd rather take their word for it rather than worry about all the possibilities," Tristram replied, solemnly. Despite his usual enthusiastic demeanour there was something more sombre about his tone and his expression. This was no doubt down to the loss of two companions at the amphitheatre. A loss like that could hit a young man hard.

"You'll be fine."

"Where have you been anyway, sire?" Sir Erec stepped in at this point, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He had definitely not enjoyed the abrupt departure of his king's only son and the rumour that was circulating about him flying a horse had not helped matters. Having made a promise to Uther, on his life, Erec had been beside himself with worry.

Arthur offered him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, you'll be glad to know that Merlin and I managed to seek out the dragon egg and…"

"Have you destroyed it?" Tristram asked, eagerly.

"Er….well no because it seemed impenetrable. Therefore we have brought it back with us so I can show it to my father and see what he wishes to do with it."

"So, how did you find it?"

"It's a long and complicated story. I will explain later, first I wish to talk to Morholt." He looked meaningfully at the tanned knight whose brown eyes darkened with trepidation. "Come, Morholt."

Arthur led the man away from the group and round the corner of a grey stone cottage. There was a small wooden pen behind the building and in it were two goats and a solitary duck that quacked raucously upon their arrival, flapping its wings like a mad thing. Fleetingly, the prince was reminded of the recent farewell of Pegasus and was surprised at the attachment he had grown to something so obviously borne of magic. It was almost unfathomable that he should care for such a thing. And yet, he did.

Shaking his golden haired head and focussing on the matter at hand, he wheeled around to face the young knight who he had believed to be a good man, one that could be trusted and who he could share jokes with, but had really turned out to be a deceitful bully. He couldn't believe he could have judged a person's character so poorly. Then again, he had to refer back to Merlin and the way he had treated him without even knowing him because he was a peasant with a runaway mouth. If Arthur hadn't been thrown together with him in a master-servant relationship then he would never have had the opportunity to learn what a frankly brilliant human being he was. Unfortunately, Morholt was the opposite. He had believed him to be honest and honourable because of his rank rather than his real character. It was a steep learning curve – one that Merlin had paid the price of.

However, he couldn't blow off like he really wanted to. If he was acting without someone else to think about then he would have exploded like a furious volcano, spouting a lava of scorching words and throwing punches like hard pieces of pumice. As it was, he needed to try and keep a cool head. For Merlin. Well, a _reasonably _cool head as Pendragons weren't generally known for their calm dispositions. They were fiery like the dragon they were named after.

"Well, Morholt," he said slowly, edging each of his words with untold fury, "I have been speaking with Merlin and he informs me of some _very _interesting facts concerning our trip so far. You may have thought you could bully a servant but that is not the case. Merlin may be lower in you than status and he may not have money and finery and the armour of a knight but he has the heart of one. He's certainly more chivalrous and courageous. Even as a servant, he still wears the Pendragon crest and is therefore as much a part of our kingdom as you or I."

"Sire, I never did anything to Merlin," Morholt protested.

"_Don't _you _dare _try and lie to me, Morholt. I have succumbed to your clever manipulations too many times and this will certainly not be another. I have the word of Merlin, a servant and friend of mine that has no reason to lie, that you have committed these heinous acts: trying to kill a vulnerable man…how could you?" Arthur's blue eyes narrowed and hardened with rage as he paced in front of the man he so despised. He was just itching to lash out but he restrained himself.

"He must have misunderstood my gestures, my lord! He's just a simple serving boy after all." Morholt continued to claim his innocence even though it was obvious that his web of lies had come crashing down around him.

Suddenly, Arthur looked positively murderous. "If Merlin is anything then it's certainly not _simple_. You ignorant, lying…weasel." He had to knead his forehead with his knuckles in order to stop himself from giving the other knight a well-deserved punch. It was touch and go for a moment.

"None of it is true," Morholt was whining by now, like a petulant child that was not getting his own way. All his previous unruffled façade forgotten; he had realised there was no way he could worm his way out of this one. That _damn _servant had scuppered all of his plans. He wanted to hurt him, to cause him pain. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly, in barely more than a whisper.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and placed his arms across his chest. "Well, _Merlin _wishes for you to stay with the group whereas I would rather like to throw your sorry backside off the nearest cliff. He claims it's for the good of all of us. After all you've done to him you should be truly thankful."

A red haze blanketed Morholt's mind as he heard those words. "I shall never be thankful to _that slave_!" he spat and tore off before Arthur could react. By the time the prince had realised what was happening, the young man had rounded the corner and was charging straight at the raven haired boy who was causing him all this grief. There was only one thought in his head. Arthur gave chase, frantically.

"MERLIN!" the prince yelled in warning when he saw what Morholt was about to do but the shout came too late. The muscular knight came in with a ringed punch that tore a scarlet chunk out of Merlin's cheek and knocked him flying. He crumpled like a ragdoll on the floor just as the cannonball that was Arthur smacked into Morholt and wrestled him to the ground, landing a well-aimed blow to his abdomen in order to quell him.

Crimson blood spewed from the manservant's pale cheek, dripping down his face like molten ruby.


	22. Finally Leaving

**Author's Note – Some of you commented on how quickly they got the egg compared to the rest of the journey and that **_**was **_**intentional (surprisingly because usually in my stories everything happens by chance). It was a change of pace and to show that the real challenge was actually getting there. And then there is the challenge of getting back =)**

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. The response to last chapter was lovely. Just so you know, this will probably be the last of the Merlin beating. I fancy a change of scene, as I'm sure you all do, so I'm moving on to another-certain-someone beating. :) Two guesses who. Yay! **

**And to whoever said the story is winding down. I would say I'm only getting to the good bit. I mean, we still have the premature hatching of a certain egg to come, oh and a little incident where Arthur may find out about someone's magic...**

**Hope those tidbits keep ya coming! And the reviews too!**

Segwarides skidded to his knees beside the fallen Merlin, his brown eyes intense with worry. Morholt bucked and kicked beneath Arthur's strong grip like a wild animal still trying to reach its prey. This only served to intensify the prince's hold on him as he pressed down on the knight's thick neck, pinning him to the ground. Blood still poured from Merlin's face as he lay deathly still on the hard-packed ground; it was dark and sticky against his milky skin.

Arthur's heart was in his mouth. That had been a massive punch and Merlin was in a terribly weakened state; it had probably smashed all the bones on the left side of his face. The effect of Morholt's rings that had been on his fingers as he connected with the boy's cheek was devastating. The scarlet gash was so deep that Arthur could've sworn he saw the white of his cheekbone. It made him feel physically sick as he watched Segwarides first shake the boy gently and then, when he got no response, grab at the manservant's stick-thin wrist in order to find a pulse.

"If you've killed him," he leant down and hissed in Morholt's ear, "I _swear_ to god that I will rip you limb from limb."

Morholt didn't doubt the prince's words. He stopped his struggling and instead froze in fear as he too stared at the body of the young raven haired man.

With a look of consternation on his face, Segwarides' fingers dug into Merlin's skin, mindful of the painful looking marks that ringed his wrists from his time in manacles. He willed the boy to still be alive but a blow like the one Morholt had delivered could even have broken his neck.

"Segwarides, is he…?" Arthur tailed off, the words lumping in his throat.

"He's alive," Seg replied, dropping back on his haunches for a moment with a look of relief. This relief seemed to be shared by those around as Sir Tristram punched the air and Sir Erec nodded thankfully. "We need to get him into the infirmary though."

Whilst Arthur was restricted to keeping his hold upon Morholt, Tristram and Erec moved forward and helped Seg with the injured man. The prince wanted to tell them they needn't have bothered as a woman could have lifted the feather-light Merlin but he kept his mouth clamped shut; perhaps, to preserve some of the boy's dignity. Instead, he observed with concerned eyes as they carried the manservant through the doors of the infirmary and vanished from sight.

Once they were gone, he turned his attention to Morholt. He didn't think he'd ever have experienced such fury in his life. It was white-hot and seized his whole body in an iron fist. Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.

"I want you to _leave_," he growled, "I want you to leave so I never have to see your disingenuous face ever again. I was prepared to give you a chance. Hell, Merlin was prepared to give you another chance and then you go and do this! You are a pitiful excuse for a human being let alone a Knight of Camelot. Leave _now _or I will not be responsible for my actions."

Arthur's blue eyes flashed with anger as he shoved the man roughly to the ground and stood up, drawing his sword and angling it at Morholt's throat. His expression was that of a mighty warrior, fearsome and immovable. The dark haired man struggled slowly to his feet, the blade point following his every move, and glared at the prince. His black eyes lacked any remorse and that only served to further Arthur's rage. Still, he managed to hold himself back.

"_Go_," he hissed.

"Gladly," Morholt replied, "I don't want to follow a weak, servant-loving fool anyway. You have no pride Arthur Pendragon and no self-control. Next we'll hear of you accepting sorcerers into your kingdom and that will be the end. The end you deserve."

"I hope you _rot_," Arthur shouted, his resolve breaking as he lurched forward.

Dodging, Morholt yelled back, "Not before _you _let the rot infest your kingdom," and began to run. His booted feet pounded on the frosted grass and a jeering laugh trailed behind him.

For a moment, the golden haired prince considered throwing his sword at the fleeing man's exposed back but thought better of it. Not that Morholt didn't deserve it after all he'd done. However, he wasn't sure if Merlin would forgive him such an action. Instead, he turned back to the small stone building that was the infirmary and hurried inside. What had become of his manservant?

Inside the building it was kind of dingy and quite cramped. Back in Camelot, they tended to use Gaius' own chambers for the majority of injuries and maladies that occurred in the castle and there were several other physicians dotted around the city for the peasants. His home, although cluttered, was generally light and spacious. If he had more than one patient to tend to then he would use the Great Hall in which to treat the wounded. There was plenty of room in there after all.

However, this building had several beds and several patients in a space that could only be the size of the stables. It smelt slightly like a stable too: sweaty and musty. But with the metallic scent of fresh blood and herbs and urine mixed in it too it was undoubtedly a hospital. Arthur wrinkled his nose as he entered and his eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the candles. He scuffed at the hay that carpeted the earth floor and looked about for Merlin. He wasn't hard to find as his was the only bed surrounded by people.

Marching straight over, the prince shoved passed a young man who was carrying an armful of bandages and halted when he came upon the sight of his manservant lying on the hard, wooden hospital bed with half his head covered in blood. Parts of it were darker and than others were the blood had congealed and scabbed over but a lot of it was bright red, glimmering in the candlelight. His cheek had swollen up and was purpling like an overripe plum; Arthur knew immediately that that was a sure sign of a broken cheekbone.

There was a doctor standing over him, prodding at his inflamed cheek with experienced eyes. Arthur guessed that although the setting wasn't the best in the world the physician present did know what he was doing. He wanted to ask what his diagnosis was but it was probably not best to interrupt the man whilst he worked. Instead, he watched on, shoulders tense and a small frown knotted between his eyebrows.

After a time, the doctor called for a cloth and some alcohol antiseptic to clean the wound which was delivered efficiently. By the time he had wiped away the blood the injury to Merlin's face didn't look quite as gruesome. It was still serious but just less startling.

"He has fractured several bones in his face," the physician turned to Arthur and said.

The prince looked at him blankly. "I speak English."

"Ah…" the Italian nodded beckoned the young man over that Arthur had careered into. He glanced nervously at the blond haired knight. "He learn English. He translate." The doctor began to speak once more as the boy translated his words and tried not to make eye contact with Arthur.

"He says that your friend has fractured several bones in his face and that there is nothing he can do for that except give him willow bark for the pain. They will fix themselves. However, if they begin to affect his breathing then you should bring him straight back. The wound on his cheek is deep and will need a large amount of stitching. He says that it will most likely leave a small scar at the very least."

"Thank you," Arthur nodded at the boy, trying to convey the fact he wasn't that scary just a little stressed. "What is your name?"

"My name is Bacchus and this is Atticus."

"Thank you both."

Arthur blew out a long breath and ran a tired hand through his hair as he smiled weakly at his comrades. They too seemed very thankful for the prognosis. It surprised him to realise that they all had grown attached to Merlin despite the fact he was a servant and a slightly annoying one at that. He guessed it must be the charm of the boy, his endearing nature, which was what Arthur had fallen for. Perhaps, it was because he sent out signals of being such a vulnerable person and they were all protective men – hence the fact they were Knights of Camelot. There was just _something _about Merlin.

Even the usually indifferent Erec had placed a rough palm on the boy's exposed arm and nodded silently before leaving now he'd seen he would be all right. Tristram soon followed him, hobbling on his crutches, realising that perhaps it was a little too crowded in the pokey infirmary. Only Segwarides and Arthur remained.

As Merlin was yet to wake up, Atticus took it as a good opportunity to suture his wound. Giving it another mop with the antiseptic because it had began leaking once more; the man took a bone needle that he'd sterilised in some alcohol and threaded it with cotton. Then he pinched the skin together and began to sew. Arthur winced as he watched; he'd had his fair share of battle wounds but this was _Merlin _who was just a peasant and it just looked so painful. Segwarides hissed through his teeth.

To distract himself, Seg turned to Arthur and asked, "What happened to Morholt?" His tone was lowered and conspiratorial. He too wanted to cause the bastard some damage.

"I let him go," Arthur said, concentrating on the gentle in-out-in-out of Atticus' needle.

"You _what_?" Segwarides yelped.

"I told him never to come back into my sight or I would kill him."

"I would have killed him there and then," the man growled, his fingers curling into a fist. He still wore the wounds of his run-ins with the traitorous knight. Arthur was surprised at such words coming from one of his most well-tempered knights but he guessed it was understandable.

"I couldn't. I just…couldn't." Arthur sighed. "But now he'll never be able to hurt Merlin again."

"He should never have been able to hurt him in the first place."

Arthur froze, something dawning on him. "You knew?" His cobalt eyes were shining with disbelief as he watched Seg retract a little. The other man's expression was difficult to read in the semi-darkness but he was fairly certain it was full of guilt.

"We all knew," he said, quietly, then seeing Arthur's irate face he backtracked slightly, "Not about everything! But, I mean, it was hard not to notice. Morholt had it in for Merlin from the start and he wasn't afraid to show it. Well, not in front of us anyway. I thought you'd notice eventually but, well, you didn't and it got out of hand…"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur shouted rising up out of the chair he had been sitting in. He was a formidable sight.

"Because…because we were scared of what Morholt would do. He seemed so close to you and technically it's the Knight's Code not to tell on one another. Not to betray one another."

"Even when one of you is doing something like this?" Arthur cried, "That code _must _be changed."

"I agree."

"I've got to get some air," Arthur suddenly said, spinning on his heel and striding out of the hospital. Seg was left gaping in his wake.

* * *

Merlin blinked slowly and stared up at the ceiling. It was low and laced with cobwebs that hung between the timber supports like bride's veil. Where was he? He tried moving his head and let out a tiny grunt as his cheek seared painfully. An unconscious single tear slipped from his eye and dribbled down his stinging skin. What had happened? He couldn't remember. He vaguely recalled talking with Seg about something and then seeing Morholt running towards him. And there was the pain. The explosion of pain that had burst in his vision like a thousand multicoloured stars and then dissolved into blackness.

Tentatively, he lifted a hand and gently probed his face with his fingers. His smooth pads were tickled by the roughness of the stitches that formed a line down his cheek and he could feel the strange shape of his face which he guessed must be pretty badly bruised. Morholt could pack one heck of a punch. But how had he been cut? It must have been a ring of some kind, he guessed, that had torn his soft skin. He winced at the thought even though he'd already experienced it.

He also guessed that he was in the infirmary. That was the only thing that made sense, especially when they had been standing right outside it when the incident happened. But where was everyone? Plucking up the courage to move his head despite it aching terribly, he twisted his neck in order to look around. The place was almost deserted, except for a young man who was tending to a patient at the other end of the room. He was speaking in a soothing tone but Merlin could not make out the words; they must be Latin.

Other than that fellow, there was no one. He had to admit he was a little offended. Suddenly, a terrifying thought struck him. What if they had believed him too cumbersome or beyond hope and left him behind? He couldn't be alone in Italy, could he? Somewhere, a sane part of him was telling him that Seg and Arthur wouldn't leave him just because he was injured but the other part was yelling 'They've gone! They didn't want to waste their time!'

It was a combination of paranoia brought on by the drugs that he'd been given and a genuine fear of being thought unimportant enough to leave behind that had Merlin jumping inelegantly from his bed. He caught his foot on the edge of the bed and let out a muffled yelp but ignored it, continuing on his path. Stumbling, disorientated by his head wound, he finally managed to make his way to the door and scrabbled with sausage-like fingers in order to open it. Somehow, the man inside the building had not heard him and he managed to get outside without being seen.

The cold hit him like a battering ram and he sucked in a gasping breath, wrapping his arms around his thin frame. To check his vitals, he had been stripped of the majority of his clothes and was now wobbling along in a pair of trousers and a shirt. The wind whipped through his pitiful layers.

Where would they have gone?

In his delirium, he wandered through the streets of the village and to any onlookers he merely looked like a battered drunken man, especially as he dropped to his knees every so often. His cheek was still agony and as the effects of the painkillers wore off it only got worse.

Eventually, he came upon the _thermopolium_ which he and Arthur had visited earlier. With hope warming his heart, he staggered in and took in his surroundings hazily. There were several patrons inside having a spot of lunch and several smells assaulted his nostrils. His stomach rumbled eagerly but he was put off by the pain in his nose that he experienced when sniffing.

Thankfully, he spotted a familiar face sitting on a chair at the edge of the inn. Smooth-skinned and with wavy blond hair, Merlin recognised Tristram. He was sipping a golden beverage which the manservant guessed was mead. The boy had yet to notice him so Merlin hurried, as fast as his wobbling legs would allow, over and collapsed gratefully in a seat. The wooden back dug into his shoulder blades but he didn't care.

"Merlin!" Tristram looked astounded to see him. "Did they let you out then? I must say I'm a little surprised but it's good to see you up and about. You feeling better?"

Merlin was about to say something and then frowned and shook his head. "Not really," he said, quietly.

"Oh, that's not good," Tristram looked worried, "Do you want me to get someone? Arthur?"

"He's still here?"

"Er…yeah. Look, I don't think you _are_ up to being out of hospital. You look kind of pale."

Merlin chuckled lightly. "I always look pale, the curse of Irish blood."

"You're Irish?"

"Just a bit…" the boy mumbled, "My grandmother…anyway, where is Arthur?"

"He was heading back to check on you with Seg. I'm guessing they didn't find you?"

"T'would seem not," the injured man said, feeling a tad woozy.

Just at that moment the doors of the _thermopolium _burst open and in flew Arthur and Segwarides. They both looked rumpled by the wind and their eyes were identically fearful. When the prince's gaze fell upon the bruised face of Merlin his mouth dropped open.

"_Merlin_, bloody hell! Do you know how bloody worried I've been about bloody you. I thought you'd been kidnapped by bloody Morholt out on a _bloody _vendetta!"

"Sorry?" Merlin offered, feebly.


	23. Heading Home

**Author's Notes - Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. This is really a dull filler chapter. Oh, but MagicByMerlin, look out for a little gift. :) And well done to WingedWolf121 for picking up the foreshadowing. I'm sure you all noticed it too but she mentioned it. I love it when people notice my little nuances. **

They had returned to the hospital and stowed Merlin away with strict instructions so that he couldn't get into any trouble or any trouble couldn't get to _him_. Arthur was still very wary of the fact that the knight he had once thought of as a friend may return to try and seek revenge on the man who had caused him to fall from favour. In the manservant's vulnerable and frankly slightly unstable state, he was in no condition to look after himself. Merlin couldn't defend himself at the best of times and he doubted if he were accosted now that it would be any different.

In fact, the prince had been very reluctant to leave the lightly snoozing servant for fear of what could happen but he had then realised that there were more pressing matters at hand. For example, he had forgotten completely about a certain egg which he had left in the tavern in his haste to get to the fight and having returned to the place he found that it was gone. He had been so preoccupied that any thought of it had vanished completely from his mind. Now he was paying the price. Literally.

When he said literally, he meant that he had found the dragon egg on a local market stall being flogged by a trader who had so obviously pilfered it from the inn. When Arthur had caught sight of it, standing rather randomly among a pile of glittering bracelets, hairy handbags and general other rubbish, he had marched right over and demanded the object back. However, the trader, with a nasty, knowing smirk on his face, declared that it would cost him five _denarii_.

"But you _stole _it!" Arthur exclaimed, incredulously.

"Sir, I not understand what you say," the stall-holder threw his tanned arms up into the air with a fake look of incomprehension.

"Of course you do, you thieving, lying…" he tailed off, too furious to continue the sentence. He took a deep breath and struck up again. "That's _my _egg!"

The Italian grinned. "You not woman….or chicken."

"Oh, so _now _you understand me? So you can mock me?" The prince grabbed at the egg but the other man was quicker, yanking it off the table and away from his frantic hands. With a snarl of annoyance, Arthur reached for his sword. Upon seeing this, the trader's eyes widened and he backed up slightly. "Give me the egg," Arthur said, dangerously.

"I not want trouble," the man stuttered, nervously, "You pay and I give."

"I'm not paying for something I already own," Arthur shouted, neglecting to remember that he too had stolen the egg from its previous owners.

_Shing_. The sound of the sword leaving its scabbard caused the trader to let out a terrified squeak and practically lob the egg at the advancing Englishman. He didn't think it was worth getting stabbed in order to get a few _denarii_. The stupid, crazy foreigner could keep his damn egg. He didn't see what was so special about it.

"Thank you," Arthur smirked, "It was nice doing business with you."

Turning, he headed back to his rather diminished group of knights who were waiting a few metres away, watching the exchange with amused eyes. Their grins only widened as their golden haired leader strolled smugly back to them, the egg nestled safely in his arms.

"If only swordplay got you _everything _in life," Seg said, wistfully, "I'd be set."

"Violence isn't the answer; it can only get you so far" Sir Erec replied, sagely, "Hard work and commitment is what really separates the great from the very ordinary."

Segwarides stared at him for a moment. "Since when did you get to be so wise?"

"Age, it creeps up on you when you least expect it but it certainly leaves its mark."

"Well," Seg clapped his hands together, "With that rather…enlightening statement from Erec, shall we all go drown our woeful sorrows in a good tumbler of mead at the _thermopolium_?"

Ever since the incident at the amphitheatre where Segwarides had stood up for what he believed in and hadn't been a coward, he had been much bolder and a hell of a lot more cheerful. Arthur would never have had the boy down as a comedian but he was certainly stepping into those shoes now the threat of Morholt had been removed. In fact, it was like a massive weight had been lifted off the shoulders of all his men with the departure of Morholt. He hadn't realised how much his bullying had constricted them all.

Tristram too had come out of his shell, chatting with abandon about his home life and his wants and worries. It was strange, Arthur had believed that he had known his knights quite well but with all that he was being told he realised he knew very little. For example, Tristram was one of ten, a middle child and the second son of only two. He had lived his life in the shadow of his older brother, Flynn, who had inherited his father's estate whilst Tristram had been sent to train as a knight in order to 'make something useful of himself'. Of course, the boy hadn't complained, it had been his dream to become a defender of Camelot but it would've pleased him to have a little encouragement and praise from his father once in awhile. Apparently, he had one letter since arriving last season and that was to inform him that his brother had got married and was expecting a babe. He hadn't even been invited to the wedding.

After all this, Arthur found himself viewing the young blond-haired boy in a different light and decided – with as much determination he was putting into fattening Merlin up – he would praise Tristram much more and stop treating him as the baby of the group. He was a skilled warrior after all.

They all trailed into the inn and Arthur felt slightly bad because he knew that Merlin was cooped up in an infirmary bed whilst they were having fun. However, he didn't linger on the thought too long as the warm beverages arrived and he gulped them down as much as the rest of them. Merlin would be fine.

They had descended into a conversation about Morholt, now that his absence had given them leeway to loosen their tongues. Arthur had already learnt several terrible things that the knight had done, especially to poor Tristram, crushing his spirit and his belief in himself by declaring him an unworthy knight. Apparently, before Merlin turned up, the youngest fighter had borne the brunt of the insults. Arthur still couldn't believe that the other knights had allowed it to go on for so long but when he questioned them on it they just recited the Knight's Code. It was ridiculous and he was determined to talk to his father on the matter when they returned.

Taking a sip of the beer that he now had in front of him and wiping away the frothy moustache he had created, he listened to the others.

"He can't have been always bad though, surely? People aren't born bad," Tristram said with a confused frown.

Seg shrugged. "Well, I don't know. He always went on about when he was a child and how he used to play with his cousin Sheridan. Frankly, their games seemed rather sadistic. He informed me once that they found a cat that was pregnant and thought it a good idea to kill it and dissect it to see what kittens looked like in the womb. If that's not pure evil then I don't known what is."

Collectively, they shuddered. That was such a barbaric and completely heartless thing to do. Arthur, usually the unfeeling type, couldn't help but imagine all those little lives that had been lost. It was obvious that Merlin's soppy nature was rubbing off on him. Soon, he would stop wanting to hunt altogether and it would be that damn manservant's fault.

"I'm just glad he's gone," Tristram said, quietly.

"We all are."

"Do you think we should head back to Merlin?" Segwarides asked, scraping back his chair and stretching his long limbs. "Atticus said that he would be ready to leave by tomorrow and that we could all kip in his home by the hospital for the night."

Arthur's blue eyes widened. "That's very generous of him."

"Shall we go?"

* * *

Morning dawned with less of a bite to the air as the sun shimmered slowly up from behind the mountains. The grass was, for once, not coated with the tiny ice crystals of frost and the horses could actually dip their majestic heads in troughs of water without fear of freezing their tongues. Several sparrows skittered through the sky, puffing out their breast feathers with excitement as they saw spring had broken fully through the cold tendrils of winter. Even some very early lambs had been born, huddling up to their mothers for protection from the strange new world.

Arthur stepped out of the cramped little house that they had stayed in for the night and stretched his arms gratefully, letting out a huge yawn. A little dog yipped at him from where it was tied to a post, straining to get some attention. Stiffly, the prince wandered over to it and crouched down and stroked the creature's soft back, rubbing its velvety ears. The dog leant into his touch and wagged its tail.

"Hey there, little fellow," he cooed as he continued to rub.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Prince Arthur went all mushy over a puppy," a voice declared from behind him. Arthur didn't bother looking round as he knew perfectly well who the voice belonged to. Instead, he quirked his lips and shook his head. "Someone's going soft in their old age."

"You're going soft in the _head_," the prince finally said, pushing himself to his full height and turning to face his friend.

Merlin was squinting in the harsh early morning sunlight and was rubbing the back of his head with a weary hand. He looked better than he had the day before but the left side of his face was badly bruised – a multitude of blues, purples and greens. It gave him a lopsided look. Perhaps, that would compliment his lopsided personality, Arthur thought wryly.

"You're right," Merlin replied, raising an eyebrow, "I expect my brain has turned to mush by now what with all the bashing it's had." He was referring not only the injury he had recently received but also the one when he was captured and taken to the arena. It was true; the boy's head had taken quite a battering.

"You have to be thankful for that thick skull which I always tell you about," Arthur jibed.

"_Very _thankful," the manservant replied with a little more sincerity than the prince expected.

Arthur gazed at him for a moment and then sighed. "I'm thankful too." Merlin's face broke into a grin. Quickly, the golden haired man lifted a warning finger. "But if you call me _mushy _one more time then I swear I won't hesitate in adding another dent to your already misshapen head."

"That's a tad mean," Merlin relied but knew it was all in good spirits.

"I'm a mean person. I'd have thought you'd realised that by now," Arthur retorted, clapping his friend on the back, "Now, where are the others, we need to buy some horses and then be on our way."

"Segwarides is flirting with Atticus' daughter and Erec is trying to drag him away. I think Tristram went to get some breakfast."

Arthur laughed. "Right, tell them all that if they're not here in the next five minutes then I'll be leaving them behind."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, "Doesn't take you long to start treating me like a servant again, does it?"

"You _are _my servant, Merlin."

"Wow, I almost forgot," Merlin stated, mockingly, slapping himself in the forehead.

"You're such an idiot."

* * *

After Arthur's threat it didn't take them long to gather together and descend on the local stables to see if they could buy any horses. Unfortunately, they arrived and took one look at the animals on offer and realised they were not suitable. The majority were nags and one terrible looking specimen had the scars from what looked like a grapple with a lion – perhaps it was a retired horse from the amphitheatre. The man there informed them that this was the best they had and that they would need to head to the horse breeding farm which was about two days walk northward for better creatures.

As they turned away disappointed, the only consolation they had was that at least this farmstead lay in the direction that they were meant to be heading in in order to get home. It was strange, to actually have the egg with them, passing it between them periodically as if it was a child. To begin with, the three knights had been very wary of the abnormally sized egg and the aura of magic that seemed to surround it but, at the very blunt words of Arthur, they overcame their fears. At one point, Tristram had even thought it amusing to draw a face on the smooth creamy shell with a piece of charcoal so now their bodiless baby had a grinning smile and rather scary eyes.

Whilst the rest of the group focussed on the egg and the exciting prospect of returning home and presenting it to the king, Merlin was thinking about the actual journey back. Although Morholt had gone and could not bully him anymore, he was still nervous about entering the mountains and the cold that he would undoubtedly meet. Arthur had already wrapped him up ridiculously warmly in several jumpers, shirts and coats but he couldn't help feel that the chilling wind would still find a way to wriggle through. He didn't like the idea of collapsing again; perhaps this time he would not wake up.

It amused him, however, that Arthur was showing an even more caring side of him than Merlin had even thought he possessed. Of course, he had known he was a good man under all those layers of arrogance and bravado but he hadn't realised he could be such a dutiful friend. So far he had been offered too numerous clothes to count, extra food at meal times that was practically forced down his throat and Arthur was constantly asking him if he felt all right or if his wound was bothering him. He understood that a lot of it was guilt for not noticing his suffering before but it was like a floodgate had been opened. To be honest, it was tiring Merlin already and he just wanted to go back to being treated how he was before: as an irksome, sometimes funny manservant with balance problems.

Running a weary hand over the rough stitches on his cheek, he felt someone immediately appear at his side. It was Seg. That was another thing that had happened since his injury and Morholt's departure; all the knights had begun talking him like he was a real person. They treated him like an equal and, honestly, it was disconcerting. Merlin was used to being treated like dirt; being anonymous to everyone except Arthur. This was a completely new experience for him; not unpleasant, just different. After all, Merlin was a generally friendly and laid back person, he made friends easily but that was with servants not knights. If only Will could see him now.

"Are you all right, Merlin? Does it hurt because I can give you some willow bark to chew on if it does?" Segwarides queried, concernedly.

"I'm fine," Merlin snapped, perhaps a little too harshly but they _kept _pestering him. Seeing Seg's wounded expression he sighed and apologised. "I'm sorry, just a bit tired. Do you known how long until we reach the horse farm?"

"Arthur said lunch time. Are you _sure _you're all right?"

"Dandy."

"Well, if you need anything…"

"I'll ask."

Merlin knew that he was being harsh but he couldn't help it, he was fed up of being the invalid, the weak one. Just because he was surrounded by a bunch of overprotective knights didn't mean he should suddenly be treated like a baby. He could look after himself; just as he had before. They hadn't looked out for him when he was being bullied by Morholt so why should now be any different? It was a slightly bitter way of looking at things but he was still feeling a little sore from it all, both physically and mentally.

He was aware of Segwarides moving away and he felt bad but not enough to apologise. Blinking uncomfortably, Merlin focussed on his surroundings rather than the people in it. Hills rolled out in front of them, undulating like the waves of the sea and dotted with the white splodges that could only be sheep grazing. A brook snaked between two humps, bubbling over rocks and around twists in order to continue on its path. Several silver fish darted beneath the crystal clear surface, their scales dancing in the sunshine, throwing off pink and green sparkles. A lone wolf, skeletal from the sparse winter and with a scraggly coat, sat by the moving water, watching the shoals with hungry amber eyes. Occasionally it would reach out with a furry paw and bat at the brook, sending splashes cascading off in different directions. The fish merely darted out of his reach and Merlin couldn't help feel incredibly sorry for such a desolate creature. Surreptitiously, his eyes glowed and he scooped a salmon from its path and dropped it in front of the grey beast who stared at it, astounded. After a moment, it reached down and snapped up the body in its jaws. The warlock smiled, satisfied.

Glancing up into the sky, Merlin saw a flock of blackbirds zipping through the azure sky. They were a slippery black mass against the pale backdrop, so close together they could have been mistaken for one creature. Every time a single one of them changed direction the rest would follow instantaneously. Only once did the manservant see one left behind; the bird seemed to realise its mistake, let out a minuscule squeak, and then wheeled around midair. It was comical to observe.

As he watched them all, he wasn't aware that the rest of his party had come to a halt and he walked straight into the back of Sir Erec. The man's shoulder blade hit him right in the sternum and he grunted in surprise. Immediately, he had an entourage of people asking him if he was all right and even Sir Erec, who hadn't done anything wrong, was apologising profusely.

"Hey, hey, _hey_!" he eventually had to shout to get himself heard; "I'm _fine_. It was my fault and I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Tristram asked, worriedly.

"I won't be fine if you guys don't stop pestering me though. I may have been injured but I'm not made of glass." Merlin threw his hands up.

"Sorry." The three knights backed off with contrite expressions but Arthur remained, his arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable look on his face.

The raven haired man stared at him, quirking his eyebrow in question. He was waiting for Arthur to come out with something like 'we should be worried about you' or 'Merlin, calm down' but instead the blond prince looked him straight in the eye and said:

"Stop being such a girl, Merlin." He smirked and then turned away. "We're here."

_Finally_. Everything was back to normal and Merlin could breathe a sigh of relief. He felt like he was being maybe a tad ungrateful for all the kind words that the knights had offered him but he comforted himself with the fact they had to be thick-skinned in order to be in their line of work and put up with Arthur. They'd get over it.

A broad grin made its way onto his pale face and, even though it stretched his stitches slightly and stung a bit, he found he didn't care.

Gazing up at the meadow that stretched out before them, the boy was surprised that he hadn't noticed it sooner. The space was filled with horses of all shades and sizes, grazing on the tufts of grass that had so recently been released by the frost and snow. So many colours: bays, chestnuts, greys, duns, roans and blacks; their coats shone in the sun, glossy and beautiful. There was a very small horse with a fuzzy brown coat that could only be a metre or so tall with its dumpy little legs; it was standing beside a larger animal as if seeking protection.

Arthur punched Merlin on the arm.

"That one's definitely yours."

"Oh yeah, ha ha," Merlin replied.

"No, I'm being serious," Arthur grinned, "It means you'll be closer to the ground if you fall."


	24. Llamrei and Brecon

**Author's Note – thank you very much for the reviews last chapter and the fact that you enjoyed it despite it being a 'filler'. I've had the images of the horses that Arthur and Merlin acquire for a long time so I have created links to photobucket if you want to see what they look like, in order to do so visit my profile page **

Arthur ran an experienced hand down the flank of the horse, feeling its muscles ripple beneath his fingers. He was probing for any abnormalities, hidden injuries or general problems that could affect the horse's potential. After losing his last horse he had to admit he was rather gutted because he had hand picked that animal from a colt; it had seen him through many difficult battles and perilous journeys. A trusted steed. And then that slimy git Kaeso had stolen it from him. He was unsure that he could find a fitting replacement.

Glancing up, he saw that the horse farm-holder was watching him with suspicious black eyes. It was obvious that he didn't trust this pale-skinned Englishman who had arrived with a rowdy entourage and demanded to see his finest horses. His business wasn't often with foreigners but the few times he had encountered them he had been ripped off. They were devious people. This one looked respectable but only time would tell.

Murmuring softly to the horse, Arthur rubbed its nose and then gently coaxed its mouth open in order to inspect its teeth. Often, if a horse had bad teeth then that suggested it also had bad health and the longer its molars were the older it was – if the owner tried to lie about an animal's age then the prince could always tell. This one's teeth were a little yellowed but they seemed fine other than that. However, it wasn't taking too kindly to the intrusion: stamping its feet and snorting uncomfortably. Knowing that he was probably about to get bitten, Arthur released the beast.

He turned to the breeder. "Not this one."

The man grunted and scratched his rough chin. He was beginning to see that this foreigner was no push over when it came to selecting good animals; it certainly looked like he knew what he was doing. For a moment he stared at the blond stranger and then sighed, beckoning Arthur to follow him.

They left the bay horse that he had been inspecting and allowed it to run freely back into the field. It did so with great joy, tossing its head and throwing its mane into the wind. Both men walked in solemn silence around the small house and set of outbuildings to reach the stables. These were made of wood and seemed newer than the rest of the farm judging by the cut if the timbre and the style in which it had been constructed. Outside one of the stable doors, a young girl was rubbing down the withers of a beautiful grey mare. Arthur stared at her, quite taken a back. He had never seen such an exotic colour before, she was grey in the sense of silver – shimmering and ethreal. The mare's mane was lighter than the rest of her, a floating white crown that fell over her face. As the prince approached, the creature's ears perked up and she watched him curiously, swishing her feathered tail slightly.

Tentatively, he reached out a weathered hand and stroked her velvety muzzle; she snorted gently and he continued to brush upwards, moving her forelock out of the way. She observed him with her newly uncovered soft brown eyes. He stood for a moment, enraptured and then he quickly completed the same inspection he had done with the other horses the dealer had shown him. Although she had a slight scar on her neck, he found that he didn't care – she was perfect.

"I'll take her," he informed the breeder. Reaching into his pocket he brought out fifteen _denarii_. "This much?"

He was aware that this was a particularly special animal and he was willing to go higher if the horse trader insisted but the man shrugged and nodded, holding out his hand in order to receive the payment. Arthur could barely contain his glee, fondling the mare's ears with his fingers.

"Thank you," he smiled at the breeder who stared at him for a moment and then spoke in rapid Latin to the girl that Arthur guessed was his daughter. She turned to him, large blue eyes round like an owl on her young face, framed by dark waves of hair.

"He says you are welcome and that he wants to know if you are purchasing any other horses?"

"Oh, yes," Arthur nodded, suddenly glancing round him. He had been so preoccupied with his search for his own horse that he'd forgotten completely about the knights who he'd sent off in order to find their own animals. He counted swiftly on his fingers. "Four more," he said, holding up the appropriate digits. The Italian fellow smiled, obviously pleased at his suddenly lucrative day.

They waited for the rest of the knights to turn up with their respective steeds and they did not disappoint. One by one Arthur's men appeared in the small paddock beside the stables and showed the prince their horses. Each man had chosen well bearing in mind the needs of their journey: the distance, the uneven terrain and the terrible weather. Arthur agreed to pay for each of their animals and then they all waited for Merlin to turn up. Of course it had to be him that was late; he had the worst time keeping skills in the world.

Eventually, Merlin appeared over the brow of a hill strolling along in a carefree fashion, his arms swinging by his sides. His raven hair was being blown sideward by the wind that had picked up and all his clothes rippled as he moved. Arthur groaned as he watched the boy; obviously he had been too incompetent to select a horse, the idiotic fool. He began marching towards the servant, ready to inform him that he'd been given a chance to choose whatever horse he wanted and he had blown it because they needed to go, when another shape bobbed over the hillock. In Merlin's wake trotted a piebald horse whose coat seem inordinately fluffy and whose flat nose was splashed black. It gave it a strange appearance; no doubt one that the sickeningly girly boy found endearing. It seemed to be trailing Merlin with no lead rope and no visible sign of bribery; it merely _followed _him like a loyal dog.

Arthur stared with his eyebrows raised.

"I've named him Brecon," Merlin stated as he grew close enough to be heard, "It means badger. Don't you think he looks a bit like one with that black blaze?"

"I guess," Arthur said who was still astonished by the boy's control over the animal, "Is he suitable?"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be thrown off if that's what you mean," Merlin grinned, "I think he was a war horse, look at the scars." He gestured animatedly to the risen lines on his legs and the rip in his pointed ear.

"Hmm…" The prince didn't look entirely convinced but as he had said it was Merlin's choice then there wasn't much he could do. Disgruntled, he paid for all the animals and some tack so they could actually ride in comfort and bid goodbye to the farm owner. They all mounted their horses, ready to begin the final leg of their journey home.

Merlin trotted up alongside Arthur. "So, what are you going to name your horse?"

"Name her?"

"Yes. Don't you think she deserves a name?"

"I don't name my animals. It makes you get too attached to them and then, when you lose them, it makes it all the more harder."

The manservant quirked his eyebrow. "You could say that about your friends and family too."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"Fine," Arthur conceded, seeing that Merlin wouldn't stop bugging him until he'd named the mare, "I'll call her…Llamrei."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. I made it up, didn't I? You imbecile," the prince said and bashed his companion on the shoulder with friendly irritation.

* * *

A couple of weeks had past by in what seemed like a whirlwind but at the time had been hours of hard slogging through torrential rain and the residues of wintery coldness. Everyone's legs were tired and aching from the continual riding that Arthur insisted they were put through in order to get home more swiftly; even the horses were growing weary of the constant movement. Merlin's clothes stuck to his body like a second skin and his hands were always blue with the constant exposure to the elements. When they stopped for camp he would revel in the warmness of the fire and the dryness of whatever shelter they could make or find. It was a great reward for him to curl up in his sleeping sack, his belly heavy with food, and fall asleep by the crackling fire.

However, in the morning he would wake up and have to make the mad dash out of his warm nest in order to throw on his clothes before he caught hypothermia in his nightshirt. He would frantically rub his hands over the lightly smouldering embers of the fire and wish that he was back in Camelot in the relative cosiness of Gaius' chambers or even sorting the sheets in Arthur's room so he could surreptitiously angle himself towards the hearth. Often, he would find himself sidling towards Brecon and standing side by side with the horse in order to draw some heat from his toasty body; the animal would also oblige him by dropping his large head over Merlin's shoulder and enveloping him in a haphazard horsey hug. For that, Merlin was eternally grateful.

It was when they had passed through the mountains for the second time that it had been the worst. The manservant was just thankful that he had more clothes than last time because he still felt like a block of ice as he shivered his way through the craggy valley floors and took refuge in the cavernous caves when the weather got unbearable. Arthur kept checking up to see if he was faring all right and this time he was happy with the support as he did really need it with his general lack of body mass in any shape or form. He decided that when he returned home that he would start training with the knights (now that they had more or less accepted him) to build up some muscle and insulated his frigid bones. Merlin could have even sworn that there were icicles literally growing inside his heart because of the cold.

He was especially shocked because spring had definitely overcome the land but obviously it had yet to thaw the Alps as they remained as desolate and freezing as ever, blanketed in a now crunchy layer of ice and snow. Every time his horse's hooves or his boots made that awful crunching sound that half squeaked half grated, Merlin was reminded of the time that he was cold, terrified and all alone. It hurt him to remember.

Therefore, it was a huge relief when they were spewed out of the mountains and onto French turf again where the pastures rolled just like they did in England and the woollen sheep were scattered across the greenery along with the large brown cows and frolicking horses. The buckskin coloured rabbits had even ventured from their frosted burrows in order to celebrate the blossom springing on the gnarled black tree branches and the daffodils and bluebells repopulating the barren earth.

It seemed, as they had finally crossed the border, that Arthur was ready to allow them a proper rest; as if they had passed some challenge. They stopped a little south of a town which they visited only to collect supplies and then returned to the makeshift camp they had created among the forestland, protected from the wind and any bandits that might wander by.

They all dropped onto their respective sleeping mats and lounged around the fire, watching as the flames leapt and fizzled.

"_So_," Arthur said, clapping his hands together suddenly, "Who votes that Merlin cooks supper?"

Everyone raised their arms and grinned at the servant.

"Hey! That's not fair," Merlin protested.

"You're going to have to get used to it Merlin. We've all been too lenient on you and you're getting lazy-"

"Pfft…_I'm _lazy?!" Merlin barked, sarcastically, gesturing to Arthur who was slumped like an exhausted dog across several of his knight's legs.

"But you're the servant and you're going to have to get back into the habit of serving me again. I can't return and have you challenging my every word-"

"I already do that."

"Or failing to do the chores I set you-"

"I already do that."

"Or showing me up in front of my father-"

"It has been known," Merlin grinned and ducked as a bag aimed at his head sailed by.

"You're meant to _respect _me, Merlin," Arthur groaned, realising how lax he had become with his servant. It was true, he now treated the boy as a friend more than a servant and had even learnt to do things on his own without the peasant's help but that didn't mean that could continue when they returned. If Merlin still wanted the job then he was going to have to behave. Besides, the prince missed bossing his poor, hapless servant around. "Hey, don't make that face. I'll make you walk behind the horses all the way home if you don't stop mocking me and behaving like a child."

"Wow," Merlin's ocean blue eyes widened, "You sound like my mother."

"For the love of the gods Merlin, _be-have_."

"Fine," the boy conceded.

"And cook the supper, there's a good servant."

Merlin complied but not before he'd slipped off his boot and thrown it in Arthur's face, making sure it landed sole down. The prince yelped in surprise and pain and then disgust as he realised the bottom was caked in mud. He scrambled lithely to his feet as Merlin let out a burst of laughter, tried to escape and then promptly fell over Segwarides surprisingly well placed leg. Arthur was on top of him in an instant, rubbing one of his own stinking socks in Merlin's face.

"Argh!"

"How do you like that, eh Merlin?"

"Gerroff!" Merlin cried in a muffled voice as he desperately tried not to inhale. He bucked like an unbroken horse and managed, somehow, to throw Arthur off. The knight sprawled across the ground, guffawing. "I thought I was going to die from the poisonous fumes that _thing _was giving off!" Merlin stated deadly seriously.

"Oh, come on, they're not that bad," Arthur chortled and took a whiff before coughing roughly and wrinkling his nose. "Whoa…all right, so they are."

The raven haired youth grinned. "They could be used as weapons of warfare."

"What? Fire them on arrows at the enemy and stink them to death?"

"Exactly."

"You know," Arthur laughed, "I think you may be onto something there, Merlin."

The cheerful banter continued long into the night as the sun sunk behind the not long crossed mountains and the silvery moon alighted on the navy blue blanket of sky. Millions of stars glittered around it, embedded like sparkling buttons on a noble's velvet doublet. An eerie light was cast across the countryside, coating it in a shimmering mist. Several pairs of glowing yellow eyes littered the woods as the nocturnal animals came out of their nests and a wolf howled a little ominously.

By the time midnight had arrived, the group were almost dropping off, enjoying the comfort and safety of their carefully constructed camp. It was customary for one of them to always remain on look out in case they should be attacked by anyone whilst they were sleeping. Most of them fought for the slot just before bed so that they wouldn't have to wake up in the middle of the night but as it was, this time, they all nodded off before anything could be arranged. They left the encampment unguarded.

* * *

Merlin had woken up and he wasn't entirely sure why, after all, it was still dark. He wondered whether it was Arthur deciding that they needed a ridiculously early start and therefore were leaving before sunrise. However, as he grunted in annoyance and got not smart-arsed reply, he realised that perhaps the others weren't awake. Then why had he woken up with the feeling that he had heard something or been shaken?

Voices.

He heard them suddenly and realised that they weren't the voices of his friends. This sound must have been what had awakened him. Tensing with a combination of nerves and adrenalin, Merlin's eyes shifted through the dark shadows of the night, looking for anything out of place. So far he had picked out nothing but he was certain that he had heard people speaking. Deciding that he should probably investigate he climbed reluctantly out of his sleeping bag. As he did so, he realised the voices had stopped. He froze.

"One of them is awake," came a hissed voice and Merlin could vaguely make out the outline of a man. They were speaking French and he found he was quite glad because he could understand once more.

"What do we do?" another asked. Staring fiercely into the dim light cast by the moon, he caught sight of a few more figures standing around the camp. They were surrounded.

"Quickly, kill him!" the first one said, seeing that Merlin had spotted them, "Before the others wake up!"

Shadows melted out of the darkness into people that advanced on the manservant, looking like ghouls with wicked faces in the dying amber glow of the fire. Their eyes danced with malice. Merlin counted eight of them and felt the heart beat increase in his chest, thudding against his ribs. He could try and wake the others but that could result in a lot of bloodshed as they were all unarmed and unprepared. If he left them asleep and took care of this himself then a lot of lives could be spared. Besides, he was fed up of always being protected by the knights and Arthur; he could look after himself, he had his magic after all.

However, it would be a risk performing it as any one of his party could wake up but it was a risk he was willing to take – if only to prove to himself that he could look after himself after all the blows he had suffered to his spirit and self-esteem.

He didn't even need to summon his power, this was easy magic, stuff that he had been able to do since he was a toddler. Abruptly, before the bandits could get any closer, Merlin's eyes flashed golden and he felt the strength of the magic burst out in a circular wave, knocking back all those around him. Without even cries of surprise, the men fell, hard, on the turf, having had no time to even react to the lightning-fast spell cast by the boy-warlock.

Smiling to himself, satisfied at his handiwork, Merlin picked up each of the stunned men in turn with a glowing stretcher and sent them off. They vanished in the blackness of the night.

Feeling tired once more and glad to have done something worthwhile with his magic for once even if, yet again, no one had been there to see it, Merlin flopped down on his roll mat and relit the fire, not having to bother with the bits of kindling lying about because he had the warmth of magic at his fingertips. Enjoying the heat of the flames on his chilled skin, Merlin almost didn't hear the almost inaudible cough from behind him. However, when he did, his blood ran cold.

Swivelling on the spot, his bright blue eyes fell upon a tall, muscular figure with messy blond hair.

Honey blond hair.

Segwarides.

"What the _hell _was that, Merlin?"

Merlin gaped for a moment and then spluttered, "Its not…I didn't…that wasn't…"

The man was staring with those intense brown eyes. So intense. Merlin blanched in horror.

And that's when the egg cracked.

**Aha, look at all that drama! I bet you got excited when I mentioned the blond hair thinking it was Arthur. :P**

**Review, please!**


	25. The Hatchling

**Author's Note - Thank you all so much for the frankly gorgeous reviews, all **_**34 **_**of them! Wowee! I have a snow day today so I have updated! **

**I can't believe we've blasted past 500 reviews! I love you guys so much! **

**I also love this story because as I go along I just get more and more ideas that just seem to pop out of nowhere and fit **_**perfectly**_**. You will never believe the most awesome awesome awesome ending I have thought up for this fic. Its so exciting! **

Merlin looked toward the egg and then raked a horrified hand through his hair making it stand up in raven tufts. He kept opening and closing his mouth trying to say something but not having enough air or general suitable words to do so. Why was everything happening _now_?! He could have handled one thing – maybe – but someone discovering his magic _and _the egg hatching at the same time was just beyond a joke.

His dark eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure away to weasel his way out of his currently terrifying predicament. There wasn't a singe lie that could explain his magic. He wasn't even sure which part Segwarides had seen, him defeating all the bandits in one blow or merely lighting the fire? Struggling to decide which was worse Merlin placed a hand over his lips desperate to stop himself saying anything stupid. His cerulean eyes looked imploringly at Seg as desperately as a fawn looking at the sharp end of a crossbow.

It was strange. After all, he had always had to entertain the idea that _someone _would eventually find out about his magic, just like Lancelot, and not take it so well so he would have to explain why he wasn't a threat to the kingdom and why he could help. However, he had kind of, at the back of his mind, being directing that speech at Arthur. He'd always rehearsed what he would say _to Arthur_; even more so since they had been on this trip and the prince had become so suspicious. And now, faced with the stunned eyes of Sir Segwarides, he was stumped.

Finally, he managed to pry his hand from his mouth and was about to speak but Seg beat him to it.

"We'll talk about this later," Seg said in a completely neutral tone, "Shall we focus on the egg?"

Merlin nodded mutely.

They both walked tentatively towards the round object that was sitting on a nest of Arthur's shirts. Its drawn on face was turned towards them, watching them. The fissure was obvious close up, zigzagging down one side of the egg, black against the smooth cream. Merlin touched his own face lightly, reminded of the wound that he had received at the hand of Morholt. His had healed for the most part leaving a dark pink scar behind and a few browning bruises.

"Is it hatching?" Segwarides asked, nervously, his gaze never leaving the egg.

"Yes," Merlin croaked, unable to believe his eyes. Even he wasn't quite sure what would come out; after all, he'd never seen an infantile dragon before.

"Is it dangerous?"

"I don't know," Merlin replied, only realising afterwards that the knight was turning towards him for advice. Was that because he associated sorcerers with dragons?

Standing in stunned silence, they watched as the egg wobbled slightly and then cracked again; a sound that echoed around the quiet forest. Several more lines formed across the shell, moving at a dizzying pace and constructing a mishmash of disjointed shapes. Merlin winced each time he heard each fracture form. A bigger rupture suddenly formed at the top of the shell as splinters exploded into the cold night air. Fragments were scattered across the ground like bits of shrapnel. Both boys jumped back alarmed.

They waited with baited breath.

A strange cross between a bird squawking and a frog croaking came from within the now frantically shaking egg and Merlin moved forward slightly, wondering if it was a sign of distress and the creature was having trouble getting out. However, he halted as something came out of the hole which had been created. It certainly didn't look normal but then the warlock realised that was because the dragon was coming out rear first. Two small legs wind-milled for a moment in midair as it struggled to pull the rest of its body out and a little tail sailed back and forth like a flag.

If Merlin hadn't been so tense and his stomach hadn't felt like it was tied in a thousand knots then he would have found it all very amusing. He imagined the great Kilgarra being hatched like this.

And suddenly the rest of the creature followed, spilling onto the ground like a basket of dropped apples. For a moment it just looked like a pile of limbs but then it slowly uncurled itself and clambered shakily to its feet. It was a miniature dragon and Merlin could barely believe his eyes as it was as scarlet as Arthur's jacket, scales shimmering in the flames of the fire. He had expected it to be brown like the only dragon he had ever met but it was red; _so _red.

Abruptly, Merlin was pulled out of his thoughts by the awareness that Segwarides was moving. The glint of metal told Merlin that he had a blade in his hand. The warlock leapt forward, throwing himself between the newly born dragon and the advancing knight.

"Merlin, get out of the way, we must kill the thing before it gets any strength."

"No, Seg, we can't!"

"_Merlin_," Segwarides growled, warningly. Merlin was terribly aware that he was probably ruining any chances of making the knight an ally now he knew he had magic. Still, he couldn't allow the baby to be destroyed, not after he had come all this way and actually seen it hatched. "Move."

"No." Merlin spread his arms, trying very hard to look powerful. He didn't want to resort to his magic but he could if needs be.

"Merlin! What on earth is going on?!"

Unfortunately, this was not the voice of Segwarides but of another blond haired knight. Prince Arthur had finally woken up. Upon seeing one of his colleagues with his sword pointed at Merlin's throat, he had scrambled immediately out of his sleeping sack and gathered his own weapon. Surely the soldier could not be attacking the servant? Despite being rudely awakened, the prince was alert and ready to face anything thrown at him.

"_Tell _me what's going on!" he repeated when he got no reply.

"The egg has hatched, my lord," Segwarides said slowly, "And I don't understand why but Merlin won't allow me to destroy it before it hurts anyone."

"But it's a baby!" Merlin protested feebly, "What harm can it do?" He looked pleadingly at Arthur who frowned, confused.

"It's hatched? Let me see," he demanded.

Reluctantly, the two men parted (Merlin not straying far) so that Arthur could get a closer look. He moved forward, aware that he had yet to put any boots on so his bare feet brushed the wet leaves and grass. It took him awhile to get to grips with what he was seeing; after all he had never even seen a dragon in the flesh and blood.

It was about the size of one of his hounds and staring at him with massive golden eyes. There was something very expressive about those eyes – strangely, they reminded him of Merlin's – and something very human about them despite the obvious fact this was a magical beast. Its neck was long and slender, branching down to a slightly scrawny body that would no doubt develop in the future. The creature was covered head to toe in glimmering red scales that were really quite beautiful. A pair of unused wings were folded awkwardly on its knobbly back.

Tentatively, as if sussing out that Arthur was the one that needed to be won over, the creature stumbled towards him. It was like a newly born colt; unsure on its legs. He had never believed a mythical beast could look so helpless and vulnerable. In fact, he hadn't even thought about the fact that all creatures started off as babies and then grew into the monsters they would become. He thought they were created fully fledged. Well, some of them were but others were obviously not like this dragon that looked both young and ancient at the same time.

"Sire, I will kill it!" Segwarides said, moving to intercept the wobbling creature.

"No," Arthur replied, holding out an arm to stop him, "Leave it to me."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Merlin was still hovering close by, unsure whether to intervene. It was obvious that he already cared a great deal for the animal even though it had only just hatched and was borne of magic. Merlin was the kind of person that didn't let those kind of things get in the way of spreading his love _everywhere_. He got attached to things at the drop of a hat. Looking at his reddening face, Arthur realised the boy was about to protest at any minute.

"Sire!" Merlin suddenly burst out. He was right, as usual. "Please, sire, its just a baby, can we not wait to see what it does?"

Arthur stared thoughtfully at his manservant. "You _must_ be serious if you've resorted to calling me sire." He paused. "Merlin, we were sent all this way to destroy the egg and then you persuaded me not to do that. I listened but now it has hatched and is killable, what do you expect me to do? A dragon is the embodiment of magic. I cannot go directly against my father's wishes."

Merlin floundered, then, "But that's just it Arthur! Your father ordered you to destroy the _egg _and not the dragon. Now it's hatched his word is null."

"My father's word is _never _null, Merlin," Arthur retorted, gruffly.

Backtracking, the manservant seized at another option. "Please, it's just a baby; think of its potential."

"The potential to kill things."

"No, the potential to _protect _Camelot. We have it as an infant, it could be trained like a dog and then when the day comes that we need protection it can defend the city. It will be _loyal _to you."

"To my father."

"And _you_. You have to face the fact that one day you will rule the land and you'll need all the allies you can get. Your father has made many enemies and he will leave them all to you when he dies."

"Merlin," Arthur said with his voice dangerously low, "watch what you are saying. The king didn't make his enemies; they were already formed from the depths of hell. I will merely be continuing to uphold the law he has struggled to keep."

Seeing that he was facing a losing battle, Merlin sighed, "You _need _friends, Arthur."

"Hmph…"

"Just give it a chance. We can chain it-" Merlin cut himself off, almost shuddering upon the word. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "And you can bring it back to your father; then he can have the final decision."

"I thought you said this was my decision as much as his if it was to benefit the future kingdom?" Arthur reminded him.

"Oh for crying out loud, Arthur, stop being difficult!" Merlin finally crumbled in annoyance.

He turned away, obviously admitting that he had been defeated and that the decision was out of his hands. There was a certain slump to his angular shoulders and his head was bent at he scuffed at the floor beneath his feet, venting his frustration. Whenever he thought something unfair then this was what Merlin did; it was his version of a sulk. Where Arthur liked to throw things and hit things, Merlin liked to turn his back. Probably a safer option in the long run.

Sighing, the prince looked again at the harmless creature that sat on the ground staring curiously up at him. Its snout wiggled slightly and it then sneezed so violently that it was sent flying back a couple of feet. The look of surprise on its face was priceless. What Arthur had been a little perturbed by was the fact that a few flames had curled from its nostrils and the smoky aftermath still hung in the air. Still, Merlin was right, it _could _prove to be an asset.

He was sure that his father had never even considered using a magical creature to fight his side of the battle but perhaps this could be the first. It was such an opportunity and Arthur certainly didn't like to pass those up. As a knight, you had to be an opportunist. Sometimes a duel was only won in the merest of seconds when you saw a small break in the opponent's defence and went for it, throwing caution to the wind. It was what made Arthur such a good warrior: his eye for identifying those minuscule chances that fate threw at you.

Could this be one of those crucial chances?

"We'll keep it alive – for now," Arthur declared, coming to a decision.

He found several astonished faces staring at him, jaws hanging agape. He grinned, stepped forward and chucked Segwarides' chin, snapping his teeth together loudly.

"Chin up, Seg, you never know Merlin may have a decent idea for once. This could prove to be a worthwhile choice." When Segwarides' handsome face still remained dark with discontent, Arthur frowned. "What's wrong? Is there something you think I should know?"

Merlin froze mid-step as he heard the question posed of Segwarides. He had no idea how the blond knight would react. It would make sense for him to turn the warlock in all things considering – it was obvious he wasn't happy in the presence of Merlin or the dragon. Surely his only loyalty was to Arthur as the prince and leader of their band? And yet, judging by his expression, the boy seemed torn.

"No, nothing is wrong, I'm just uncertain about that dragon," Segwarides finally said, looking awkward and completely and utterly guilty as if he had committed treason; which, in a sense, he had.

"Yeah, I'm not completely comfortable either. We'll tie it up like Merlin suggested and see how things go."

The prince turned away and went rummaging through their pile of belongings which they had accumulated ever since their things had been stolen at the amphitheatre. As his back was turned, Segwarides turned to look at Merlin and gave him a _very _significant _look_. The manservant didn't know whether to be terrified or overjoyed. Seg had had the perfect opportunity to hand him over and yet he hadn't. What could that mean? They needed to talk. It was impossible with everyone around though.

"Aha," Arthur stood up, brandishing a thick chain with a manacle swinging of the end, "I _knew _this would come in handy."

"You knew a stretch of metal meant to contain prisoners so they couldn't escape their grisly deaths would come in handy?" Merlin replied, a little aghast.

Arthur cocked his head and grinned. "Well, I was right, wasn't I?"

"Astonishingly," the manservant stated, "Though I do worry about you sometimes, Arthur."

The prince seemed undeterred; instead he hopped over several discarded sleeping sacks and rejoined the rest of them, holding the chains out in front.

"So," he exclaimed, "Who fancies trying to get them _on _the mini-monster?"

As he spoke, he swung the chain in a circle and laughed as everyone recoiled as if he was spinning a dead rat by its tail. Their expressions ranged from terrified – Tristram – to downright disgust; of course, that was Merlin with all his animal rights nonsense. His pink lips were pursed, a thin slash across his pale face. His arms were crossed over his skinny chest in a very Arthur-like stance.

"_Merlin_," he smiled, perhaps a tad sadistically, "Why don't you have a go? After all, it was _your _idea."

"You're a real ass, you know that?" Merlin muttered before snatching the ghastly object from Arthur's grip. The metal links clanked noisily and he shuddered, recalling how they had been slapped on him and Arthur in the arena so they had no chance of escaping their gruesome demise. They may not have succumbed to them but Sir Peregrine certainly had.

He glanced from the harsh metal in his hand that glinted in the dawn and then to the young dragon who was watching him with a mixture of interest and trepidation. Fleetingly, he thought about talking to it, assuring the baby that it would be alright but that was stupid in so many ways. It would put both him and the hatchling in danger. Even if the dragon could speak immediately – unlike a human baby – then it would only encourage Arthur to think of it as a sentient being and therefore capable of evil rather than a docile animal.

So Merlin resolved to keep his mouth clamped tightly shut and advanced in what he hoped was a non-threatening way towards the creature. Its scarlet tail swished uncertainly.

"Its getting nervous, Merlin," Arthur laughed from behind, "Watch out or you might get your eyebrows singed."

"Ha ha," Merlin mumbled into his neck scarf.

Cautiously, he reached out towards the dragon and then touched the top of its head. It pushed into the touch, seeking the warmth of his hand like a baby nuzzling for milk.

"Stop messing around, Merlin!" Arthur's voice had a certain edge to it now. "You are literally playing with _fire_. Put the damn manacle on and get out of there. It's not a puppy to be petted!"

Shooting an irritated glare at his master, Merlin whispered an apology in the dragon's elegantly curved ear and the slipped the cuff around the creature's bent back leg before attaching the lose chain to a tree. It didn't struggle, merely watched him with those soulful eyes and the warlock was reminded of the Great Dragon instantly. He wondered what he would say to Merlin allowing his relative to be clapped in chains. It was like Kilgarra and Uther all over again. Was this just the new generation?

Gently, Merlin ran a quieting hand down the dragon's neck, feeling the strange heat of its scales and their smooth texture. Disturbingly, he could feel all its muscles shifting beneath his fingers and he almost jumped as it let out a little croak of pleasure along with a puff of fire that escaped its leathery lips.

"_Merlin_! Get here _now_!" Arthur was yelling now and the warlock knew he had to comply.

However, even before he could move, strong hands had grabbed him round the waist and hauled him roughly backwards. He yelped in surprise and saw the dragon at his feet struggle in distress, staring at him with scared amber eyes. It jumped up and down, unable to move because of its new restraints. Merlin felt terrible.

"Arthur get off me!" he shouted, twisting like a slippery fish out of the prince's grip and turning round to glare at him.

"I don't know what's got into you," Arthur said, glaring back, "But I don't like it. I was only trying to make you safe."

"I was perfectly safe, its just a baby. Not a danger to anyone."

"_Fire_ came out of its mouth."

"Because it was happy!"

"I'm putting a muzzle on it."

"You _can't_."

"It's that or I kill it Merlin, you decide," Arthur shouted, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing. He did not like being yelled at. Especially not by Merlin.

"_Fine_."

With that the lanky boy turned on his heel and charged out of the camp, pushing away bits of bracken and bush and tree as he ran. Anger emanated from him in waves, filling the early morning with blackness once more.

"Fine!" Arthur bellowed after him, somewhat childishly but Merlin had vanished from sight.

Glowering, he swivelled round to face his knights.

"I'll go after-" he began but was cut off by Segwarides.

"No, I'll go. Seeing you will just make him more angry. He needs time to cool off. You sort out the dragon and I'll talk to him; we have some things to sort out anyway."

And then Segwarides too vanished into the moonlit forest.

**Wow, I spent a whole chapter fobbing off the _big _issues. Don't ya just hate me? **

**But you know you want to review. Please!**


	26. Talking is Hard

**Author's Note - Sorry, these are getting shorter. Next chapter I can promise will be longer! Quite a lot occurs in this chapter even with the shortness. Hopefully its quality and not quantity that counts :)**

**Thanks for the reviews and for goodythreeshoes help!**

The forest was quiet in the dawn as the light from the moon cast a shadowy latticework of leaves over the earthy ground. A fox, heading back from a night's foraging, stiffened at the sound of rustling, its russet ears pert. The sound stopped. Then, with luminous eyes, it slunk away into the undergrowth returning to its underground den. Several bluish clouds hung in the sky above the woodland, just visible through the twisted branches of the oaks and chestnuts, their edges tinged by the moon, giving the atmosphere a sombre ambience.

Segwarides glanced up at a couple of early birds that were silhouetted against the pale backdrop and listened to their calls. As he continued to walk, he kept his eyes peeled for any indication that another person had passed through here. Sharp hunter's vision allowed him to pick out the barely detectable footprints that had scuffed the hard frosted ground. He was heading in the right direction.

Rubbing his hands together in an effort to keep out the pre-sunrise chill, the knight caught sight of a familiar pair of limbs clad in brown trousers and buckled boots. He pushed an overhanging branch out of his way and ducked into the natural clearing, his gaze seeking out Merlin immediately. The boy sat in the low bough of a tree, cupped between the arms of the ancient sycamore like a child on his grandfather's knee. His legs were dangling down, heels knocking gently against the thick trunk as he stared off into the distance with those startling blue eyes. He didn't acknowledge the knight's sudden appearance.

With a little more nervousness in his gait than would usually be there, Segwarides wandered across the leaf litter, the crunch beneath his feet echoing loudly in the quiet forest. He approached the tree and turned, leaning tentatively on the solid sycamore, feeling the grooves and nodules of the bark beneath his shoulder blades.

Then he took a deep breath.

"So…." he paused, letting the word hang in the air awkwardly, "You're a sorcerer."

Merlin didn't reply but his head tilted a little and he looked, for want of a better word, defeated. There were lines on his young face that hadn't been there before. Finally, he rubbed his chin with the flat of his fingers and quirked the corners of his lips, wryly. "It would seem so."

Nodding, Segwarides realised that he hadn't quite believed that Merlin was a magician, even after seeing it with his own eyes. That was until the manservant had confirmed it. He was a fairly down to earth person and such a revelation was hard for him to get to grips with. After all no one, not a _single _person could say that they had ever suspected Merlin of sorcery. Of being a terrible liar: yes. Of being a tad slapdash when it came to cleaning Arthur's chamber pot: yes. Of being a closet cross dresser: yes. But _never _of crimes against the king. Not sorcery.

But was it really a crime?

What Segwarides had seen was Merlin putting his own life at risk in order to save everyone around him. He hadn't sought any credit or rewards, Seg didn't doubt that he wouldn't have even mentioned it the next day if he hadn't been caught. He thought sorcerers were proud creatures: selfish and greedy and arrogant. Merlin fit none of those things. The knight still couldn't get his head around the fact that Merlin was pretending to be a servant of all things and _to the Prince of Camelot of all people_! Why would he risk his safety and his life in such a way doing demeaning chores and being pushed around by a prattish – at times - prince? None of it made sense.

As he pondered all of these things, Segwarides gaze wandered over to Merlin and he watched as the manservant fiddled awkwardly with the bark of the tree. He caught a section of it beneath his nail and proceeded to scratch away the rough greenish-brown surface in order to reveal the smooth pale golden coat beneath. Strangely, he found himself likening the tree to Merlin – there were so many layers yet to be unveiled, each more unique than the first. All of them protected by a tough, protective exterior.

Oddly, he would never have put Merlin down as the secretive type; after all, his skill at lying was atrocious. And yet he had the biggest secret to hide of them all.

No one had spoken in quite a time and the young knight realised that perhaps he was the one meant to be taking the initiative.

"How long have you been…you know…a _sorcerer_?" It was as if saying the word would open a can of monsters and Segwarides felt guilty when he saw Merlin flinch.

"Ever since I was born," Merlin replied, quietly.

He still wasn't making eye contact with his companion; instead, he distracted himself with the movement of a squirrel that was scurrying round and round on the forest floor. Its had a little white splodge on its red chest that Merlin focussed on; it reminded him of the North Star.

"You mean you didn't _learn _it?" Segwarides sounded perplexed, perhaps even a little sceptical.

"Yes, I had no choice in the matter. I was born and I had magic, ever since I could crawl…" Merlin tailed off as if he'd said too much. Then, with a slight smile: "I used to make my mother's skirts catch alight just by blinking."

Segwarides stared at the younger man with fascination. He'd never heard of a child being born with magic; he'd always thought it was a learned capability by those who wished to use of it for dark means. Uther had made it sound like all enchanters deliberated garnered spell books and practiced the dark art in order to cause misery to all those less important than them, weaker than them.

"You stunned all those bandits…." Seg began, remembering how he had woken up to the sound of voices and groggily looked towards the source. He remembered the flash of light and Merlin standing in the centre of the camp – an immovable statue of power. "You stunned all those bandits just by blinking too. I saw you. And then you lit the fire just by touching the kindling with your fingertips. If you have such power then why on earth do you waste it serving Arthur Pendragon?"

Suddenly, a thought came to him.

"Unless you are using such a position to get close to the prince and then kill him?"

Finally, Merlin looked at him, his neck snapping round as he glared at the upturned face of the knight. There was a cold fury dancing in his cerulean irises in a way that Segwarides could have sworn golden sparks flew from the depths.

"Don't you dare suggest that I would do _anything _to harm Arthur! It is my destiny to protect him. It is my destiny to fall should he fall. I cannot let anything happen to him or Camelot will be destroyed. Do you have any idea how many times I have saved his life?"

The boy was gripping a branch of the tree now, white knuckles straining beneath his taut skin. His body was tense rather than dejected; as if Segwarides had gone so far as to insult his birth mother.

"How many times?" Segwarides found himself asking.

"I don't keep count." Merlin's head dropped again and his shoulders slumped back into the arms of the sycamore.

"Really?"

"Nineteen," Merlin said, abruptly. He flushed at his precision.

"Wow, that many?"

"And that's just Arthur, not his father, not Morgana, not Gaius, not even the people of Camelot…I'm a walking, talking life saving-machine." There was that wry smile again, creeping onto his thin lips.

"I'm surprised you've kept it a secret so long," Seg admitted, "But, you and Arthur seem so _close_, why haven't you ever told him?"

"Well, to start with, I didn't have a death wish. You weren't there when we first met; Arthur hated my guts and I his. It took a certain wise…_someone _to inform me that I would play a great part in his destiny and that led me to save his sorry hide the first time. He still didn't trust me and I wasn't about to tell the son of King Uther that I could perform magic when he would undoubtedly send me on the way to the chopping block. No. And then things got complicated. And more complicated. And _more _complicated. There was just never _the right time_. The more our relationship grew the less I wanted to break it."

Merlin sighed heavily at the end as if he had shifted a great weight off his chest, one that had been piling up and up for months. It had been strange to his own ears to hear it all come out in one rambling gush and he couldn't even fathom what it would be like to be on the receiving end. He watched the muscular knight closely, observing the thoughtful stance that he had struck and the way his fingers twisted awkwardly by his sides.

Eventually, Segwarides turned up to look at him once more on his bird-like perch. Those intense brown eyes bore into him like a blacksmith's tool; all penetrating and unforgiving.

"I could so easily turn round and stroll back through those trees and tell them that you are a sorcerer," Segwarides stated, slowly.

The manservant barely missed a beat. "And I could so easily blink and kill you on the spot."

This was met with stunned silence as both men analysed what had been said. Merlin was mentally kicking himself, blood colouring his cheeks as he realised the weight of what he'd revealed. He barely wanted to look at Segwarides for fear of what he would see.

"I'm sure you could," the knight finally said, his voice surprisingly calm as if he had accepted the fact that Merlin could murder him in an instant. "But I trust you not to."

Merlin looked confused. "But _why _do you trust me? Why, in fact, did you not tell Arthur that I was a sorcerer when you could have so easily? You are putting yourself in danger by not informing him."

"You fought those bandits to protect us. You did all those other things to protect Arthur. You are his friend and you said that Arthur needs all the friends he can get; just like the dragon."

"But you don't trust the dragon."

Segwarides made a face. "I don't trust the dragon but I trust _you _Merlin."

"Is that why you didn't tell him?"

"Yes, because you are my friend and I knew that you weren't ready to tell him yet. It wouldn't sound right coming from me anyway."

As he said this, the young man knocked his head against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. He was aware that his decision not to tell Arthur could be life-threatening but he was willing to do it. What was absurd was that when he began this journey he would have never considered risking his own life for a servant, he would have never even _imagined _not condemning sorcery but here he was doing both. Then again, he was doing both for _Merlin. _And Merlin was just genuinely a very special person.

"What if he reacts badly though?" Merlin said his voice hoarse with fear, "I don't want to lose his friendship. I can't. It would destroy me."

"Merlin," Segwarides replied, sincerely, placing a tentative hand on the boy's slender arm, "I can't say how Arthur will react. I'm not a prophet. But what I can say is that he's half accepted that dragon baby hasn't he and you mean a hell of a lot more to him. Trust me, I _know_."

"But the dragon didn't lie to him."

"You didn't lie. You merely withheld some information. Arthur's never even considered the fact that you could be a sorcerer and therefore you haven't even got _close _to lying to him."

Merlin rumpled his ash hair and looked up into the sky, catching sight of a flurry of movement that suggested the bats were returning to their roosts. The gentle flapping of hundreds of wings filled the air with a strange thrumming noise – like the beating of a tiny heart.

He felt odd. His mind was being pulled in so many different directions and he still couldn't believe the fact that Segwarides, a _Knight _of Camelot, hadn't turned him over. If someone had told him that when he first began this quest then he would never have believed it. He had accepted the fact that Lancelot hadn't told anyone because he was indebted to Merlin and he was also leaving. But why should Segwarides give Merlin the benefit of the doubt? What had the manservant ever done for him?

"Thank you, Seg," he eventually stated, turning his gaze upon the tall, sinewy man who was leaning on the tree beside his legs. The blond looked up at him and smiled. It was a genuine smile and Merlin couldn't help but feel warmed on the cold morning. "Thank you for believing in me."

"That's all right, my friend," Segwarides replied, sincerely. He ran a calloused finger around a knot in the sycamore, tracing the uneven contours. Brown eyes met blue. "But, Merlin, you must make a promise to me." He paused. "You must promise that you will tell Arthur about your magic before we return to Camelot…or I'll do it for you."

Merlin stared at the young man for a few seconds, slightly taken aback by the demand but realising that Segwarides was giving him a chance. He'd always wanted to tell Arthur about his magic; to value him for what he truly was. There had been so many instances, so many opportunities and he'd chickened out every time. But now the knight was forcing him, making him promise and he had to comply. There was no running away from this.

He inhaled deeply. "I promise."

They clapped their hands together to seal the deal and both broke the tension with identical smiles. Merlin found that he had formed yet another bond where he would have least expected it. A bond of shared secrecy and mutual respect.

Segwarides released the boy's hand and pushed himself off the hard surface of the tree. He stretched his legs slightly and then glanced into the distance where the sun was finally creeping out, morphing twilight into sunrise. Letting out a well earned yawn, he turned back to Merlin and allowed a small cheeky grin to work its way onto his unshaven face.

"Can I see a little of this magic? Now I'm not half asleep and half terrified out of my mind?"

The warlock looked surprised by his request. It had been the last thing he expected. Then again, he recalled all the times Will asked to see him perform a spell after he found out that he could.

Not wanting to scare the knight, Merlin decided to perform a trick that he'd perfected since the age of five. With a golden flash of his eyes, the leaves on the ground swirled upwards as if caught in a gust of wind. They danced in the air for a few seconds; a colourful haze of tawny, russet, honey and chestnut before taking shape. What was once an anonymous pile of leaves was now a small floating person.

It had rippling arms and legs and a round head that somehow had an expression even though it was merely made up of dead plants. And then it began to walk as a real human would do; slowly at first like a toddler and then increasing in speed and grace.

Merlin smirked as he performed the magic, watching as Segwarides stared with shock and then with wonder and amazement. He was entranced by the beautiful little leaf child. Blinking, the warlock allowed the leaves to disperse and float back down to their original place.

"That was…amazing."

"I didn't have many friends when I was a child," Merlin admitted, "So I made my own, sometimes out of leaves, out of sticks, out of snow. Whatever I could find."

Segwarides looked sympathetic. He hadn't even considered what it would be like to grow up like Merlin had. It can't have been easy for a child to hide such a massive secret. It probably isolated him quite a lot. In fact, it was quite astonishing that the boy had grown into such a kind-hearted, friendly, enthusiastic young man considering how easily he could have been bitter and twisted. Seg guessed it was partly credit to his mother and partly down to the fact that Merlin must have been _born _like that. It just furthered his awe of the manservant.

"Shall we head back?" Seg asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of camp.

"That's probably a good idea because if we're gone too long then Arthur will immediately assume I've been eaten by ogres and come in search."

"Yeah, that's a thing that still confuses me. If you're an all powerful wizard then how on earth do you get in such trouble?"

"It beats me."

* * *

_Young one, you have hatched. _

The little dragon lifted its head to the heavens, golden eyes glowing in the semi-darkness as it tried to ignore the uncomfortably tight leather belt wrapped around its snout.

_I have and I don't know where I am. I'm scared._

_You are in safe hands with the boy, Merlin. _

_The one with the gentle voice?_

_Yes, he has magic. He is bringing you home to me. _

_Where is home?_

_Camelot. You have a destiny here to fill, along with the warlock and the prince. _

_Where is my mother? _The voice was pitiful, desperate for a familiar figure.

_She is dead. Just like the rest. I am sorry. My name is Kilgharrah. I am the only other dragon left in existence, young one. _

A pause. Confused. _But I can sense another. _

_You can? _Kilgharrah's voice was abrupt and intense making the hatchling flinch away.

_They are near you. They do not speak but I can feel their emotions: contempt and anger. They want revenge. _

_So, the prophecy is true. _Somehow, the young dragon knew that this was not directed at it but merely a stray thought. _Have you spoken to Merlin? _

_No, I was too scared. And now they have bound my snout so I can't. _

_Well, he too can speak in this manner; you need to communicate with him. _

_I'll try. And what of the other dragon?_

_You need not concern yourself with that, young one. _

_All right. _There was a pause as the young dragon felt the telepathic link breaking. _Kilgharrah, you have a name, if I have no mother then how am I to have a name too? _

_Young dragons are named by their mothers or their guardians. I am now your guardian. I am named after a mountain. I shall name you after your colour: Alizarin. Red. _

_How do you know?_

_I have seen you in the prophecy. You will do great things._

And then the link was broken and Alizarin was left feeling alone and frightened all over again.

**By the way, sorry for spelling Kilgharrah wrong last chapter. I have been corrected by FireChildSlytherin5! Thanks!**

**Review! **


	27. Growing Bonds

**Author's Note – Oh gosh, you'll never believe it guys but this story is over 100,000 words long! :O **

**Thanks for the reviews! And can you believe this uber quick update?! Which is longer than the last one! I'm expecting a lot of reviews for my dedication! :) ;)**

By the time Merlin and Segwarides returned to the camp the others were already packing away the gear: the sleeping mats had been rolled away and strapped onto the horse's saddles whilst the sheepskin bags and general other pans, pots and tools had been scooped up and dumped in the various carrying compartments. Even their own animals had been laden with equipment in their absence. All that was left of their campsite was the remains of the fire that sat in the centre of the clearing. Erec was already dealing with that, however, kicking over dirt and leaves in order to eradicate signs of their presence entirely. Soon it would be as if they had never been there.

Llamrei, Arthur's horse, was plucking neatly at the wild berries on a nearby bush, her white mane brushing the spines and leaving strands behind whilst her vulnerable lips deftly avoided any injury. She seemed unperturbed by the movement going on around her, especially that of the little red dragon who was spitting and clawing at anyone who came close. Arthur and Tristram were growing more frustrated with their fruitless attempts to get closer to the vicious animal and had several burns and scratches for their trouble. The prince was getting less and less interested in keeping the creature on if it would only behave in such a fierce manner.

"Stupid little fire-breather," he panted as he darted to the right and tried to grab hold of the chain in order to untie it. "It's worse than Morgana on a bad hair day!"

Letting out a yelp as another stray flame caught his hand, Arthur was forced to beat a hasty retreat for the umpteenth time. He glared daggers at the young animal who glowered back at him with those eerie golden eyes, tendrils of smoke still swirling from its flared nostrils. He had worked out by now that the flames did not only come from the dragon's mouth but also from its nose and therefore the makeshift muzzle he had created was proving ineffective. Somehow, he would have to come up with another method of restraining the creature or, if all else failed; he could just kill it like he had been planning to.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur caught sight of his manservant and knight returning from their talk in the woods. A small spark of annoyance flowed through him. Sometimes, Merlin could be _so _irritating.

"Finished your little hissy-fit, Merlin?" he called over, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder before focussing his attention on the crimson dragon once more. "Fancy coming to join the adults and giving us a hand?"

Although he only had half his attention on the boy, he didn't miss the black scowl that he received at those words and, in some sort of sadistic way, he got pleasure from it. When Merlin had his tantrums he had to learn that it was Arthur who was _prince _and not him; he had to know his place. Plus when he was riled then he could be quite amusing to watch.

"Yes, _thanks_," Merlin replied with almost as much vindictiveness. It seemed that neither could be calm when the other was being spiteful. "It looks like you're having a lot of fun here."

He walked purposefully over and stood beside Arthur, crossing his arms as he did so. For a while he just remained there observing the dragon with a cool indifference; his pale face blank. The prince realised that he seemed to be waiting for something and it took him a moment to figure out what. However when he did he sighed with exasperation.

The boy would only help if he received an apology. Merlin thought saying sorry solved everything. Arthur had learnt he was very childish in that respect. Just as _he _was very childish in thinking that if he made enough fuss then he would get what he wanted. Fortunately, there was a very simple solution to the problem and, although Arthur was loathe to give in to his servant's demands, he knew he had to do it.

"Merlin," he sighed, "Will you please be a dear and sort out your blasted dragon?"

A small smile curled the manservant's pink lips. "Oh, so it's my dragon now is it?"

"Considering you are the only one who can calm the thing then I suppose….yes, the dragon is under your care. Not that I think that's a good thing. Look." As Arthur spoke he lifted up his battered hands to show his servant. They were littered with red cuts and brown burns. "It's like being a blacksmith."

"If it was my dragon," Merlin said, slowly, "It wouldn't have a muzzle on."

"Do what you want, Merlin, I don't bloody care!" Arthur snapped. The prince had had enough and threw his arms wildly into the air. "But if you don't sort that animal out within the next hour then I'm killing it like I should have done as soon as I saw it. Got it?"

Suddenly very serious, Merlin nodded. "I will have the dragon attached to my horse and ready to leave within five minutes. I _promise_." As he said those words, he glanced towards Segwarides and saw the knight smile slightly. He smiled back.

Once the fiery-tempered Arthur had stomped off, muttering about useless menservants, violent dragon-babies and needing a well-deserved wash in the stream, Merlin was free to do what he wanted. He started by approaching the creature in a non-threatening way, crouching close to the ground and holding up his hands. The dragon watched him with intelligent ochre eyes. He could sense the gazes of the rest of the knights on his back as they wondered whether he would be burnt to a cinder and he tried to feel confident and brave. If he was kind to the beast then surely it would do him no harm? Then again, he couldn't sure if Arthur had done too much damage to repair the dragon-human relationship already. Seeing that brown band around the baby's red snout upset Merlin a lot and he couldn't stand to see such cruelty occur any longer.

"It's all right, little one," he whispered once he was about two paces away.

The dragon suddenly moved, quicker than an eel, towards him and Merlin froze in his tracks, his heart thundering in his ears. The creature may be small but it could still do a lot of damage to him. Perhaps he had overestimated his abilities; perhaps he had overestimated the human-like nature of the dragon. He could hear the other knights shouting. He closed his eyes, waiting for pain.

But none came.

After a few seconds, he cracked open one eye, hardly daring to look. Disconcertingly close sat the dragon, balanced on its haunches like a dog might. Its neck was extended towards him, its head outstretched as if it wanted to get even nearer but feared repercussions. It watched him hopefully. Merlin let out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding and allowed his other eye to blink open. He dropped back on his own backside, cushioning his fall with his hands, palm down, on the hard ground behind him. Once he had got himself into a comfortable position, he leaned forward, just like the dragon was and looked intently into its eyes.

_Merlin_.

The voice came from nowhere and the boy tensed, looking around him abruptly.

"Did you hear that?" he asked the knights.

"Hear what?" Segwarides replied, frowning.

Merlin's brow furrowed as he shook his head. "I-It doesn't matter." He turned back to the creature sitting in front of him.

_Was that you? _

_Yes, it was me._

_So you can speak in my head and you know my name, just like Kilgharrah. _

The scarlet dragon nodded and received several gasps of surprise from the onlookers who had no idea what was going on. Well, except for Segwarides who was watching the slightly bent head of Merlin with concern as he wondered what was going on inside there.

_I can. Kilgharrah told me I could trust you; he told me your name. _

_You've spoken to him? _

_Yes. He knows I have hatched. He told me that I must return home to a place called Camelot. _

_That's where we're going_._ We should get there in less than a week. _

_He says I have a destiny to fulfil. _

Merlin chuckled. _You're not the only one. _

_He said you and I and a prince will be needed. Who is this prince? _

_The blond man. The annoying one that was trying to get your chain and whose hands you practically frazzled. _

_Oh, he scared me. _The dragon looked guilty. _I hope I didn't hurt him. _

_Just a few burned fingers and a bruised ego. He'll be fine. _

_That's good. I would say sorry but… _The young dragon buffeted his leather-bound snout with one of his front legs and whimpered slightly.

_I'll take that off you, if you'll let me. Just don't talk out loud. _

Cautiously, Merlin rose off the floor and reached towards the hatchling's snout, pulling a knife from his belt as he did so. Carefully, he caught the tough leather with the point of the blade and pulled upwards, snapping the material apart. It fell to the floor with a light clatter and the small dragon wiggled its mouth experimentally and then smiled, exposing rows of gleaming white teeth.

_Thank you. Why can't I speak? _

_Because we can't have everyone knowing you can. It's dangerous for you. You need to convince Arthur you're a docile animal to be trained and not an intelligent creature capable of thought. That way he won't kill you. _

The dragon looked scared again. _Why does he hate me? _

_He doesn't hate you. _Merlin was quick to try and comfort the fearful creature. _He just doesn't understand you. You have to persuade him to like you and that means not burning or biting him. _

_I can do that. _

_Good. I'm going to have to tie you to my horse though. Is that all right? _

_That's fine, Merlin. _

_You know my name, can I ask yours?_

_Alizarin. _

_And, if you don't mind me asking…are you male or female? It's hard to tell. _

_Male. _Alizarin offered him an amused grin, golden eyes glittering.

_I had better stop talking to you now, the others are getting suspicious. Just…behave. _

Pulling himself out of the telepathic conversation, Merlin hurried over to the tree and untied the chain which he had looped round the trunk earlier. Then he took the chinking metal rope over to Brecon and attached it to the saddle with a sturdy knot. It would be a little difficult for the dragon and a little difficult for the horse but he knew that both would eventually get used to it. Perhaps soon Alizarin would even persuade Arthur that he was trust-worthy and would be allowed to walk freely.

As Merlin thought this, the said prince arrived back from his washing and observed the scene before him with surprise. He ran a hand though his still damp hair, rumpling it irreparably.

"Wow," he blinked, "I have to say, Merlin, I am impressed. How?"

"Just a soft voice and a bit of coaxing."

Arthur grinned. "Essentially, Merlin, you were being a girl about it."

"Hey!"

"Then again," he laughed, "I shouldn't complain. You got the job done. I just didn't realise your lady-powers extended to the animal world."

"And I didn't realise your I'm-an-annoying-prat-powers extended _everywhere_," Merlin bit back. "Shall we go?"

"I think we shall," Arthur replied, taking a running leap and mounting himself on Llamrei's back.

* * *

The journey, if anything, seemed even slower on the return than on the way and it didn't help that they were constantly being pelted with rain rather than snow in the milder temperatures. The horses' hooves were often bogged down in muddy ravines and all the riders and items that they had to carry were sopping wet and therefore were like lead weights on their exhausted backs. Every so often one of the animals would get so stuck in the marshland that they would scream and struggle and tire themselves out so that they couldn't even move; then one of the other horses would have to step in and pull them out. As it turned out, only Brecon and Merlin did not sink so they did most of the pulling with the added help of the Alizarin.

Every night, the group would huddle together under makeshift canvas and hope not to be too sodden by the morning. It was quite a dire time. The dragon seemed to suffer the cold and wet the most so he would curl up beside Merlin like a loyal dog seeking comfort from his master. Arthur often watched the two of them, with Brecon standing just behind and offering his heat and companionship to the pair, and wonder how the boy grew attached _so _quickly. He also wondered how Merlin would cope if they returned to Camelot and he could not persuade his father that the dragon was a good idea. Would it crush him?

It was not only the relationship between Merlin and his pet dragon that seemed to have grown but also that of Merlin and Segwarides. The two were closer than ever and Arthur often saw them sitting on a shared log, their heads bent together: one blond and one black, talking about something. They would even vanish off to collect firewood together and come back laughing and joking jovially but when questioned they could never say what the joke was. Both shut up like identical clams. It both irked Arthur and made him inexplicably jealous. In a way, he felt like he had been replaced, like they were sharing something between them and keeping him out. He tried to talk to Erec and Tristram more but it just wasn't the same.

Was Merlin growing more distant or was he just being paranoid?

Sometimes, when Segwarides and Merlin had drifted off somewhere and Tristram and Erec were busy, the prince would saunter casually over to the small red dragon and tentatively sit by his side. The first time he'd done it he'd been so nervous that every time the dragon so much as moved a muscle he had flinched away. Over time he'd got better though. He'd convinced himself that if he was to train this creature then he would have to know what it was like but really he was just intrigued by such a foreign, beautiful animal.

They would merely sit side by side in companionable silence, watching the world go by. A couple of times he could have sworn the animal looked at him properly, like another human being would, judging him almost. But he knew that couldn't be the case. The dragon was just a mythical beast like all the others. He couldn't have feelings or a complex brain.

Merlin had told him that the creature was called Alizarin but, just to irritate the boy, Arthur insisted on calling him Scaly or Fire-breather.

He often pondered at what his father would think when he realised he'd not destroyed the egg but actually brought a small very alive dragon home. Actually, it scared him to think about it. What if Uther reacted badly? It wasn't even as if Alizarin was very small anymore; he seemed to grow by the hour. At first it had been barely noticeable but as soon as the manacle stopped fitting properly Arthur had tracked his expanding body with a keen eye. They had replaced the manacle and chain for rope but it seemed to be more of a formality now rather than a necessity as the dragon was truly growing attached to them. Merlin had been right in that respect. Whether he would do anything good for the kingdom was another matter. He just hoped that the king would see his point of view as one to be considered rather than a stupid, childish ideal.

Right now, Alizarin was the size of a small horse and he didn't show any signs of slowing down. Arthur, mounted on Llamrei, watched the great lizard move from his position at the back of the group and marvelled at his strength and looks. When his father had taught him about dragons he had said them to be vicious beasts that had no mercy for anyone and tore villages apart with just one fiery breath. Alizarin certainly looked capable of that but Arthur was unsure as to whether he would want or even try to. Uther had told him of their terrifying fangs, their ragged leathery wings and their impenetrable scale hide. He had made them sound ancient and ugly and generally dark. However, the dragon that Arthur saw before him was young, so very young that he chased butterflies and had yet to master the art of flying, instead he tried to climb trees in order to get some height. And he was so bright, a rich ruby-like red. Proper Pendragon colours in Arthur's opinion. It was like this dragon somehow represented them.

Except he himself couldn't grow too attached to the animal. He wasn't sure if he should even be allowing it to live let alone treat it like a pet. Therefore, he still liked to keep his distance. Well, at least when everyone was looking.

They had recently passed the river of the Sphinx and Arthur had to admit he was a bit peeved after that considering they had found a perfectly good bridge to cross just a few miles down from hers. He guessed they had just been naïve in thinking there was only one suitable crossing considering the fact that hundreds of traders and villagers must get over somehow. He was just glad they _had _got the riddles right otherwise they would have given their lives for no reason.

The fact they now had a dragon in tow kind of restricted their resting places so they were more frequently sleeping just outside villages and towns in order to walk in and use the facilities.

"This looks like a good spot," Segwarides declared, jumping down from his horse and looking around the clearing.

"Hey, isn't this the place that we stopped at before, the one where Merlin nearly got captured by those bandits?" Tristram said, dropping onto the ground and patting his steed on its soft black neck. The animal leaned into his comforting touch.

"Probably," Arthur replied, surveying the area, "But Merlin got himself into so much trouble on the way here I find it hard to remember which place is which." He shot a smirk at the boy who stuck his tongue out back.

"You think you're so clever."

"I _am _clever, Merlin, and don't you forget it," the prince said and neatly cuffed his manservant over the head before he could duck.

"Ow!"

"How am I not meant to forget it if you keep concussing me? I'm surprised I don't have great spaces of blankness in my memory where you've hit me."

"You do, Merlin, they're called your inadequacies."

"Ooh," Seg joined in, laughing, "Low blow." He paused. "But smart, I'll give you that." He patted Arthur on the back and the prince cursed himself for tensing under his touch. Why could he just not get over this childish jealousy problem?

"Thanks, Seg." He forced a grin.

"No problem. Hey, Tristram, you want to head down to the stream for some water?" Segwarides grabbed a few bottles made of thickened goatskin and tossed them to the boy before gathering another handful himself. "We'll be back in time for supper."

"Oh, I see, very clever," Erec shook his head, knowingly; "You just want an excuse not to cook."

"Am I that transparent?" Seg feigned surprise before shooting everyone a cheeky smirk and darting into the forest. Tristram was hot on his heels, almost tripping over his own boot ties as he ran.

Arthur watched them go and sighed. He remembered when he and Merlin had been that carefree, splashing each other in the stream and coming back covered in water, perhaps not at this particular waterway but at one on this journey. They had been so playful and now he could've sworn a wedge had been driven between them. Yes, they still bantered but it wasn't the same. They weren't _boys _anymore. This trip had aged them both; Merlin perhaps more so. He was a survivor of abuse and several life-threatening incidents. Really, it wasn't surprising that he'd changed but Arthur wished he hadn't.

As Erec settled down to start the supper, with a little help from Alizarin who was now designated fire lighter, Arthur observed Merlin fiddle around a bit with the clasp of his travelling bag, sigh and then drop back on the ground with a tormented expression on his face. Immediately, the prince wondered what the matter was. However, where he would have once gone up and demanded the answer from his manservant, he didn't feel like he had that privilege now. Merlin had closed himself off somehow without Arthur noticing.

He tried to busy himself with unpacking his sleeping gear and then sharpening his already very sharp blade but he kept shooting glances over his still sighing servant.

"Do you want to tell me what the matter is or are you going to keep sighing like a handmaiden?"

Merlin froze, obviously he either hadn't realised he'd been sighing or he hadn't realised that he was being observed. He spun round on his bottom and faced Arthur, that trademark smile plastered all over his pale face. However, the smile did not quite reach his sea-blue eyes as the usual sparkle wasn't there.

"Nothing is the matter," he replied, trying to laden his voice with normalcy.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Merlin increased the width of his already fake grin, "Everything is fine."

But Arthur was left with the feeling that everything was not very fine at all.

* * *

A meeting was being held. An urgent one. It required the presence of all the king's advisors and lords and ambassadors from around the area. Each one of their wizened faces had been grave and frankly fearful as they rushed along the echoing stone corridor to the council chambers. Hurried footsteps were never a good sign. Neither were frantic whispers or nervous eyes. The servants noticed all these things. Nothing got passed them when it came to the business in the castle.

The heavy oak doors had been shut over an hour ago and two sour faced guards stood outside, their backs as straight as washboards and their spears gripped in strong fists. It had to be very important if the guards weren't being lazy on their duties; usually they just leant nonchalantly against the wall after ten minutes and chatted amiably until some noble walked by so they would have to behave. This time, however, not one word had been exchanged.

Something was _definitely _going on in Camelot Castle and the servants desperately wanted to know _what_.

It fell to a serving girl who had been ordered to bring drinks in for the occupants of the council chambers to find out what was happening inside. Every single member of staff was counting on her to get the information. So, as she balanced the tray nervously in her quivering hands, she asked the guards for entry and they allowed it. She entered with her head bent and her forehead peppered with perspiration.

There was a long mahogany table filling the length of the room; dark, rich and expensive. Along both sides sat an array of gentlemen with varying shades of greying hair and neatly clipped beards and moustaches. They all wore very dark, luxurious garments of fur and leather and velvet with thick jewellery laden on their fingers and around their necks. It was a very heavy, oppressive atmosphere and the poor girl felt immediately out of place. She froze in the doorway until an impatient looking King Uther, sitting at the head of the impressive table, beckoned her in and she quickly began to serve the wine. As she did so, she listened.

"Ruthard, are you sure this is true?" Uther asked a pale-skinned man with a very short crop of black hair that was greying at the temples. His face was worn and battle-scarred.

"I am positive, my lord, Vortigern is on the move."

"And he is headed for Camelot, you are sure?"

"Yes, my lord. Our scouts northwards say that he has amassed an army of about five hundred and is coming straight for us."

The serving girl had paused for a moment, caught up in the conversation, and found herself being tapped rudely by an ancient looking man with whiskers on his face. She quickly served him, her cheeks reddening and moved on down the line. At one point, she came across an empty chair and realised who it belonged to: the absent son of the king, Prince Arthur. He had been gone for months now. He would have been the only reason she would have enjoyed being in this stuffy room full of dusty old men. As it was, she wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Five hundred," Uther rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, "Well, we have fifty strong Knights of Camelot and then there is the second guard of two hundred but that's only half the amount they have. And with my son absent…" He glanced at the chair which the serving maid had only just passed. "They have no leader."

"Do you have any news of him, sire?" one noble asked, leaning forward on the table, interestedly.

Uther looked saddened for a moment. He tried not to think about what the Great Dragon had revealed. "No, Dawlyn, but I'm sure that he is fine. They are probably on their way back as we speak. I will communicate with the French Lord that I am allies with in Brittany and see if he has seen or heard anything."

"Sire," Ruthard called for his attention once more, "I must point out that as we only have half then we shall need to call upon the peasants."

"Of course. The sooner we arm them and train them in the basics the better. How long until Vortigern arrives?"

"Four days with an army of his size but that is not the point, my lord," Ruthard continued, urgently, his black eyes full of worry, "You know how Vortigern's kingdom differs from your own."

"Yes, I am aware of that. It has been the subject of all our disagreements for years. In fact, it is the main reason that our kingdoms can never be allied."

"But, sire, you must understand that he will use that to his advantage. Vortigern is a power-hungry king, he was once a warlord and he will stop at nothing until he has claimed all of Britain. He has the majority of the northern regions already. He has probably targeted Camelot as one of the weaker kingdoms-"

"Camelot is _not _weak!" Uther boomed.

"Sorry, sire, you're right of course. What I mean to say is that we do not allow magic like he does and therefore….well, therefore he will be using sorcerers in his campaign against Camelot."

"Sorcerers can be defeated. My son has proven that time and time again."

"Yes, my lord," Ruthard nodded and then closed his eyes as if fighting off a massive migraine, "But this time Vortigern has a dragon."

The serving girl dropped her tray and it clattered noisily to the ground in the stunned silence.

**Did ya see _that _coming? **

**I know that Vortigern was technically king _before _Uther but as its a legend I'm allowed to spice it up, aren't I?**

**Review. Please! **

**P.S. Oh, and if you're at all confused, things _will _be explained. I promise. Such as the fact that Alizarin was obviously not _the last _dragon egg.**


	28. Unsteady Steps

**Author's Note - Thanks for the reviews. This is for all of you that wanted the revelation to be unusual...**

Merlin had so many misgivings he could open a shop. After all, telling Arthur the truth was not like telling his mother that he was the one who let the goat out so that it ate all of her vegetables nor was it like telling Gaius that he had, really-truly-by-accident, smashed one of his test tubes, which held his latest experiment that could only take place every full moon. No, it was nothing like those nerve-wracking occasions. It was ten…actually, one _hundred _times worse. It couldn't even compare to the time when Will, his childhood best friend, had seen him performing magic. He remembered, with vivid clarity, his guts dropping into his boots as he saw the realisation dawn on the young boy's round face. William had been stunned. He had known Merlin since they were little boys and he had reacted with shock and, at first, fear but was quickly won round by a few party tricks. The same wouldn't happen with Arthur. Not only had he not known Arthur as long as he had William but Arthur was the Prince of Camelot and son of Uther Pendragon; he had other loyalties. So why he had agreed to tell the golden haired man was beyond him.

The nervous feeling was one that he was unable to shake and it twisted his stomach day and night. He felt that if he told Arthur of his true self then he would lose everything that he had come to love. It wasn't even that he would only lose the prince's friendship, he would have to say goodbye to Seg and Tristram and Erec and Gwen and Morgana and even Gaius. If he was forced to go on the run then what would become of his mother? He liked to think that Arthur would _never _try and harm her but he couldn't say the same for Uther. Also, he had Alizarin to consider now. The dragon was relying on him to persuade both the king and the prince that he was on their side; if he came out as a sorcerer all of that would change.

Everything could be ruined and that was something Merlin couldn't stand. He _hated _hurting people.

Perhaps that was why he had taken to avoiding Arthur at all costs. Whenever there was wood to be collected or water bottles to be filled then he would jump on the opportunity. He tried to keep himself busy to avoid the inevitable no matter how many hints that Segwarides dropped. He was aware that he should probably reveal his gifts before climbing aboard the ship back to Britain because he certainly didn't want to do on the boat – angry Arthur in a confined space was not a nice prospect – and he knew that by the time they reached homeland that he would have truly chickened out. It had to be soon.

He'd thought up how to go about it. The manservant imagined sitting down beside Arthur one night by the crackling fire and just casually dropping it into the conversation. At which point his made-up Arthur would laugh and say: 'That's fine, I already knew Merlin and I don't want to kill you'. Unfortunately, he was positive that that would not be the case. Even if he could win the prince round to his way of thinking, it would not be that simple.

Occasionally, he would talk to Alizarin about it and the dragon would encourage him no end. He would tell Merlin that Arthur was a true friend then he would accept him for who he was. But then Merlin would argue back: what happens if he's not? That would not only mean that he didn't accept him as a sorcerer but also that he never really valued the manservant at all and that Merlin had believed there was a bond present that didn't even exist. It was a terrifying thought that chilled the boy to the bone.

As it was, how Merlin planned things were completely different to how they occurred.

* * *

Rubbing the back of his neck, tiredly, the manservant hefted the pile of wood in his arms higher up so they would not fall and marched, with only a few wobbles, back to camp. It was mid-afternoon and the spring sunshine was bathing the forest in a warm glow after days of dreary cloud cover and spots of rain. Pink and white blossom which sprouted on the trees gnarled branches filled the canopy, giving it new life. A little owlet hooted in its nest up an old pine as it tried to get used to the sleeping patterns of a nocturnal animal. Its parents roosted beside it, blocking out the shrill noise.

As he reached the small smattering of human-made items on the forest floor, he dropped the timber and stretched his aching limbs. There were several scratches and splinters in his fingers from the wood but, after sucking a few out, his skin didn't sting as much. Satisfied that his work was done, he padded over to Brecon and fondled his ears affectionately, chuckling as the horse buffeted his head with his muzzle. The animal's long white hairs, which were like the whiskers of an old man, brushed his cheek and he leaned away, laughing.

"That tickles," he exclaimed. "Stay away, you."

Gently, Merlin pushed the horse's head back to the bush that he had been chomping on and encouraged him to eat once more. Brecon didn't take much coaxing but he did give Merlin a last minute nose-jab for good measure before returning to his grazing. The manservant didn't mind too much but he was aware that the playful animal might have a bit of trouble with the grooms and stable lads at Camelot if he acted so mischievously. They liked well-trained animals. Then again, he wasn't even sure if he and Brecon _would _be returning to the castle as it depended on how a certain conversation went.

The rest of the group were busy elsewhere. In fact, he was fairly certain that Segwarides and Tristram had headed to the nearby village in order to collect some food for supper – Merlin had taught them sufficient French in order to buy some pork, potatoes and green beans. Sir Erec had accompanied them in order to purchase a gift for his daughter that he would give to her when he arrived home. He wanted it to be pretty and exotic and had oddly come to Merlin for advice. The boy didn't know whether to be ashamed or pleased he had been chosen to make decisions on little girls' clothing. He suggested a necklace that she could keep for the rest of her life and Erec had seemed very taken with the idea.

Therefore, it was only he and Arthur who remained at the camp but they had both made their excuses extremely quickly: one to collect firewood and the other to go hunting to see if he could catch a rabbit or two in order to supplement their meal. By the looks of it, the prince had yet to return from his foraging so Merlin settled down easily on a log; Alizarin was sleeping peacefully nearby. His scarlet back rose and fell rhythmically as he lay, sprawled out like a baby. Although he was nothing like the size of a baby anymore; he was massive. By now he had outgrown the horses and also several houses they had passed. He was also getting, unfortunately, very noticeable. They'd already had several peasants approaching them in order to find out what he was and whether he was dangerous. Not all of them had been friendly.

Tentatively, he began to fiddle with the objects situated around camp, making a few knapsacks and abandoned boots fly towards him. They were a little haphazard in their paths to begin with – one of Seg's leather shoes almost being burnt to a cinder in the fire and a water bottle being flipped upside-down (hence the wet patch on Merlin's sleeping sack) – but he soon improved and had the camp whirling around him. He knew that he was being a little reckless but in a way he wanted Arthur to walk in now because _then _he would have a _reason _to broach the subject of magic rather than have to start it himself. That was the hardest part: getting started.

With a flick of his fingers, he beckoned Tristram's spare sword towards him from where it rested on his bedroll and had to dodge out of the way as it came at him blade first. Once it had come to a safe stop, Merlin grabbed the handle and yanked it out of the air. Perhaps, he shouldn't do it with weapons in the future…

"Planning on fighting me, Merlin?"

The voice was amused and came from behind the youth. He froze, stricken. Had Arthur seen what he had done? Even if he wanted it to happen, he wasn't quite ready. Fortunately, it seemed that wasn't the case because as he swung round, blade outwards, he heard the familiar clang as his weapon hit Arthur's prepared one and the prince laughed.

"You seriously are a danger to others, you know that?" Arthur grinned, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of his servant, and tugged the sword from Merlin's grip to place it on the floor. "If I hadn't been ready – like I always am with you – then I would have lost my liver."

"I could get you a new one," Merlin smirked a little, "From a pig."

It seemed their chemistry had deserted them completely as Arthur wasn't sure whether the statement was meant to be as cutting as it sounded. As it was, it hurt quite a lot and he frowned into the awkward silence that followed. Both boys scratched their ears and didn't look at one another.

In the end, Arthur wandered away and began to sharpen the edge of his sword with a whetstone. His angular face was set in a hard expression and his eyes glinted in the reflection from the blade. Watching him for a bit, Merlin realised that he should probably find something occupy himself and grabbed some kindling to add to the fire. He was about to place it on when Arthur spoke.

"You don't need to add more, Merlin, save some for later."

"Oh, all right," Merlin replied and sat back on his heels, uncomfortably.

What was going on? Why was Arthur acting so strangely? Had he only just started behaving like this or had he been like this for awhile. Merlin had been so wrapped up in his own problems that he honestly hadn't noticed the transition. He felt terrible for admitting that.

Observing the working knight once more with soft blue eyes, Merlin reclaimed his seat and re-tied the knot of his neckerchief a few times. It was an awkward habit that he had grown since he was a child and had yet to shake, there was just something comforting about feeling the pliable, slightly rough texture of the material beneath his fingers. Plus, it gave him something to do. The rhythmic _shing-shing _of Arthur rubbing up and down his blade filled the dull afternoon atmosphere. A light perspiration began to pepper his brow as he worked and Merlin's lips quirked slightly at the expression of concentration that he had.

"If you rub that any harder then it will just disappear," he stated, teasingly.

"Don't be an idiot, Merlin," Arthur grunted, but he slowed down to gentle tickle of the metal that couldn't really be doing anything effective.

They both fell back into that silence that seemed to overcome them lately. Merlin stared at the floor and then glanced up occasionally at Arthur. He felt ridiculously like a young girl wanting to check if the man she fancied was looking. Not that he wanted to fancy Arthur – that was just plain weird. However, he did see the knight throwing a look his way a few times but he would immediately avert his eyes as soon as Merlin caught his gaze. It began to get irritating but, before the manservant could say anything, Arthur abruptly lurched to his feet and marched over, plonking himself down on the log beside Merlin.

"I want to learn more about you, Merlin."

"Really?" Merlin looked astonished.

"No, dimwit," Arthur sighed, knocking him around the back of the head, "I want to know why you're acting like a moody girl and avoiding me like the plague?"

Merlin made a strange face. "Do you _really _want to know?"

"If I didn't want to know, Merlin, then why the hell would I be asking?"

"Perhaps, you should put the sword down before I say," Merlin suggested, nervously, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he eyed the lethal weapon in Arthur's hand. It wouldn't do to give him the chance to run him through before he'd had his say.

Was this finally it? Was this finally the point at which he broke the news to Arthur that he'd kept hidden inside of him for so long? He was meant to keep the magic secret; that's what he'd always been told. Could he really break the truth to the closest ally of the king? Would it be the right choice?

Merlin's heart hammered in his chest as he turned to face Arthur head on. Both their eyes met: Merlin's determined; Arthur's a little perplexed. The boy took a deep breath.

"Arthur…I'm-"

A scream tore through the quiet woodland, a bloodcurdling sound that set the prince's hairs on end. He leapt to his feet, grabbing his sword in his hand.

"I'm sorry, Merlin, we'll have to talk about this later. Take this."

He grabbed another sword off the ground and tossed it to his manservant who fumbled it and almost dropping it through the toe of his boot. Arthur would have snorted at his incompetence if he hadn't been so focussed on saving whoever was in trouble. Setting off a swift but stealthy run into the trees, Arthur vanished from sight and Merlin was left cursing colourfully to himself with all the words he'd ever learnt from Will and Seg. He's been _so _close. So close it was just unfair!

Gritting his teeth, he sprinted after his departed master, his sword gripped in his stressed hands. As usual, Merlin was all limbs as he charged through the undergrowth and he almost tripped over the crouching form of Arthur as he skimmed through a dense thicket. The prince was ducking low, trying to seek out whoever had made the noise and see what danger they were in so he could assess the situation. From what Merlin could see no one was around but he dropped down anyway.

They waited in a tense silence for a few minutes and every so often Arthur would hiss at him to be quiet. It was like old times.

Eventually, the prince ran a hand through his hair and rose to his feet. He motioned for Merlin to stay pressed against the dirt and the manservant complied, watching his breath tickle the grass in front of his face. Everything looked strangely large from his prone position; even Arthur looked like a giant. Watching as the trained hunter observed the immediate area for hidden danger, Merlin had to desperately stifle a sneeze that was threatening to burst forth. Just as he thought he'd caught it in its tracks, it launched a counter attack when he was completely unprepared.

"_Ha-choo_!"

"_Mer_lin!" Arthur's voice was incredulous as his gaze fell upon the manservant.

"Sorry?" Merlin grinned up at him weakly.

"Get up, you prune; I think I've worked out what made that scream."

"What?" The boy jumped to his feet and glanced around eagerly. From what he could see there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Arthur sighed at his incompetence and strode several paces across the clearing. Once he had reached an old cedar, he carefully pointed out the dark splashes on the rough bark that could only be blood.

"Is that human?" Merlin asked, appalled.

The prince rolled his eyes. "No, Merlin, don't be stupid. Look. Here." He grabbed a piece of fur that had been caught in a nearby thicket. "It's from a deer. That was a deer screaming. I'm surprised it sounded so human but then again it must have been in a lot of pain. I reckon a lion got it."

"Would the lion still be around now?" Merlin questioned, alarmed, remembering the vicious beasts in the arena.

Arthur shook his head. "Nah, he will have taken his kill back to a safe place. Come on. Let's go back."

"Right, yeah, sure."

And here was another opportunity, Merlin thought, as they headed back towards the camp. He was still alone in the company of Arthur with no knights interfering. They were only a couple of days from the port; he may not get another chance. Attempting to suck courage into all his bones, the boy felt his heartbeat increase again and his palms began to sweat profusely. He frantically rubbed them on his trousers and looked towards the heavens, hoping for a sign from the gods. Surely, he deserved a tiny-weeny little sign to tell him that this _was _the right thing to do?

"Hey, Arthur, you know what we were talking about earlier?" he began, his throat completely dry, like he hadn't drunk in days.

"Yes," Arthur replied, "Are you all right, you sound a bit hoarse?"

Merlin waved him away, desperately. "Ah, I'm fine. No, what I really wanted to say is kind of important. I don't want you to judge me for what I say."

"I won't judge you, Merlin, not if it will finally get you to open up again," Arthur said in a surprisingly earnest voice. The manservant was a tad taken aback but he persisted.

"That's…good, I guess, though I don't think what I'm about to say is really going to ease your worries."

Arthur frowned. "You're not dying are you? Because if you are then….then I will not be happy." Even the prince realised he'd finished that sentence lamely and he flushed slightly. "I'll have to get a new manservant," he muttered, gloomily.

"It's nice to know you care so much," Merlin chuckled softly, scratching the back of his ear.

"Merlin," Arthur said, glancing amusedly at his friend, "I can't help but get the feeling that you're about to propose to me. Will you just spit it out already and then we can deal with it and move on?"

"I'm _trying_."

Arthur's patience snapped. "Do you like men, Merlin?"

"NO!"

"Are you really a cross-dresser?"

"NO!"

"Are you…secretly – or perhaps not so secretly - in love with Morgana and have been missing her?"

"No!"

"There was less emphasis on that no," Arthur pointed out, shrewdly.

"Arthur, just _no_! Let me speak!"

"Go on then," the prince looked at him expectantly.

Merlin gulped and closed his eyes; he thought about drawing to a halt but perhaps it would be better to keep walking so it would be easier if he needed to break into a run. "I'm a so-ahhhhhhhhhhh!"

The boy never got to finish his sentence as he plunged out of sight. One minute there had been solid turf beneath his feet and then, on the next step he took, he felt the earth give way. It was one of the most horrible sensations he'd experienced in his life as he felt all his organs stay up in the air whilst the rest of his body plummeted. He vaguely heard the terrified yelp of Arthur and his own cry echoing in his ears as he plunged down a dark hole. Everything moved so fast and he was bumping and knocking into things as he fell; it could have only lasted a second or two but it felt like forever.

Eventually, he hit the ground with an awful thud and felt all the bones of his skeleton shudder violently in reaction to the impact. His jaw snapped in his head and only just missed biting off the end of his tongue. For a moment he just lay where he'd fallen; shocked and in pain. Every single point of him ached: his elbows, his knees, his head – all had taken a battering in the descent.

He let out a moan and rubbed his sore crown miserably.

"MERLIN!"

Arthur's voice seemed unnaturally loud as it echoed around the enclosed space and the manservant groaned, turning his face upwards to see the man silhouetted against a blue circle. The prince's face was etched with concern.

"Merlin, answer me, are you all right?"

"Yeah," he murmured, checking for broken bones. Fortunately, he found none. "I'm fine. Just a little bruised. Where am I?"

He shuffled out of his jumble of limbs, struggling to do so in the limited space, and stood up, testing the area around him. He was in a cylindrical tube with stone walls that were slimy and damp with algae. His fingers came away sticky from the contact.

"You've fallen down a disused well," Arthur supplied. Merlin saw flashes of light at the top of his stone prison as the other man shook his head in disbelief. "I can't _believe _your capability to get into trouble."

"It honestly wasn't planned," Merlin replied, almost as incredulously as his master because he couldn't understand why this always had to happen to _him_. And at the worst time possible.

"I wouldn't put it past you. Hang on, I'll go back to camp and look for some rope to pull you out. I'll be back soon."

"Right," the manservant shouted back but Arthur had already vanished from view.

He waited about ten minutes in isolation and was already becoming claustrophobic in the confined space. Merlin had never really liked being cooped up; he was an outdoors person. Just seeing walls and walls and more walls around you was quite disconcerting. It was like being in prison. No, worse than a prison: a tomb.

Trying to calm himself, he hoped that Arthur would come back quickly with that rope. He wasn't thinking straight anymore; his mind was just spinning as he palmed the stonework frantically. The only consolation he had about being stuck in a well was that the water had all drained away, probably that was the reason it was disused, so he wasn't sloshing around in the cold liquid. He'd had enough coldness to last a lifetime.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the faint sound of running footsteps. Arthur appeared, panting, at the top of the shaft. There was a big grin on his face.

"Hey, Merlin, I'm afraid to say that we don't have any rope in stock at the moment. Do you fancy coming back another day?" he said, jokily.

"Arthur, shut up, I'm…scared, all right? Just get me out. Please?" Merlin's voice was quiet and pitiful and the prince's expression fell when he heard it.

"Oh, do you not like small spaces?" he asked, somewhat sympathetically. Well, as sympathetic as Arthur Pendragon could be.

"No, especially when they're dark and underground," Merlin replied, anxiously. To his shame, his eye lashes were growing wet with unshed tears. He wiped them away viciously. He was meant to be a man; not a scared little boy. But he _really _didn't like small spaces! "Will you please stop kidding around and get me out?"

"Merlin, I'm not lying when I say we have no rope. I've sent Alizarin with a message to the others so they can get some in the village. I didn't want to go and leave you as it would have taken quite awhile. So you've got me to keep you company, isn't that a cheery thought?"

"You sent Alizarin? _And _you actually called him Alizarin?"

"Yeah, well, I may be starting to trust the fire-breather a bit. He's certainly most intelligent out of him and the horses so I chose him to go. There's a message tied to his neck. He'll find them."

So, Arthur was starting to realise that the dragon was more intelligent than he appeared; Merlin wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. What he did know was a bad thing was that he was still stuck down here. He glared at the un-scalable walls with anger.

"So," Arthur's voice echoed down to him again, "Now we're here with lots of time on our hands, do you fancy telling me what going on in that messed up brain of yours?"

Merlin froze. Telling Arthur now would practically be committing suicide. It would literally be like spearing a fish in a barrel. He was a sitting duck with no escape. But what could he say after all this build up? He couldn't just fob the prince off again. Somehow, the manservant knew that this was the turning point of Fate's little game with him and he had to gamble otherwise he would most certainly lose. It was just like rolling the dice except this was his life that he was throwing them for. If Arthur was really the true friend that he thought he was, that he wanted him to be, then he would pass this ultimate test.

"Arthur, I think you ought to know…" He paused.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was suddenly as unsure as a little boy's in the distance, as if he sensed he was about to hear something he didn't want to.

"Arthur, I'm a sorcerer."


	29. Difficult Breakthrough

**Author's Note - Thank you for the absolutely wonderful response that you gave me for the last chapter. It really made my day to see so many alerts in my inbox. You have no idea how much I love you for it! Thank you! **

**I struggled with this chapter. I suppose that's not surprising. But I promise that I did try _really _hard so forgive me :)**

Merlin waited, leaning against the dank wall of the well and cursed himself over and over. There was no real reason to do this now; no _sane _reason! After all, what sane person would tell another person a secret that they may not like the answer to whilst stuck in a hole? Merlin even astounded himself sometimes with his own stupidity. He was honestly putting his life in Arthur's hands – the prince wouldn't even have to take him back to Camelot to be executed, he could just leave him here to rot in this well. Then again, that wasn't strictly true as Merlin did have magic for a reason; he could get himself out of this sticky situation if he really needed but he wanted to do that with Arthur's approval.

Knocking the already bruised back of his head against the stonework, he winced at the pain but felt he deserved it. It also distracted him from other things such as being stuck in such a claustrophobic place and the fact there could be a very angry prince above him with sharp weapons.

Why hadn't Arthur said anything? Was he just drawing this out in order to make it harder for the manservant? Or….had he already left? Just as the thought popped into Merlin's brain, fear gripped his heart and he threw his gaze upwards, squinting in the light. No, Arthur was still there, blond hair shimmering in the sun's glow like a halo. The warlock had never felt so dirty and lowly in his whole life and that wasn't just because of their positions. This was the man that would rule kingdoms, was he _really _any use to him? Was the Great Dragon just kidding with him; had it all been some sick lie? All these terrible misgivings swirled around inside him like a poisonous gas, infecting every cell of his body. He ended up wanting to dissolve into a puddle of misery and ineptitude.

"Merlin…" Arthur's voice rang out and the boy felt his heart leap, "You really shouldn't joke about things like that. I mean, I know I was larking around when I said about the cross-dressing but don't you think overstepped the line just a _little _bit? Can you imagine saying that in front of my father? He'd have you killed in an instant."

"Would you?"

"Would I what? Merlin, stop being a fool."

"Would you have me killed in an instant?"

Silence. "I don't think that's really relevant."

Inside, Merlin felt all his organs do a little jig of excitement, perhaps Arthur didn't want to answer as he had reservations?

"I'm afraid, Arthur, that it's very relevant," Merlin paused, "You see, I'm not kidding when I say that I'm a sorcerer."

The manservant couldn't believe he was having to say this twice. Of course, he shouldn't really be surprised as Arthur had completely ignored him when he admitted to the whole court that he was a sorcerer for Gwen's sake. The same when the witch finder accused him of sorcery. Merlin could still recall the amusement and derision in the prince's voice as he spoke – what on earth would he think now?

"Merlin," Arthur said, slowly, "Are you honestly telling me that you are a sorcerer…that you can perform magic?"

"Yes…yes I am," Merlin replied, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation: he was stuck in a well telling Arthur Pendragon that he was a sorcerer.

"In short, I don't believe you," Arthur said, glibly.

"That's your prerogative."

"Whoa-oh-oh, just because you start using smart words, Merlin, doesn't back up your claim of being a sorcerer. You could have spent too much time in the presence of Gaius and his books. In _fact_, this is all ludicrous; you _must_ have taken a blow to the head and aren't thinking straight. You, Merlin, are _not_ a sorcerer."

"I'm not about to argue with you, sire, but I think I know. Besides, you've even seen me do magic."

"I have?" Arthur sounded surprised, his voice echoing down the tunnel.

"All those times that my eyes flashed golden and I said it was a trick of the light…" Merlin supplied, sighing.

"That was magic?"

"That was a side-effect of magic. Arthur, how long do you think it will take to get me out of here? I mean, its getting dark up _there_, can you imagine how dark it will get down here?"

"Don't change the bloody subject, Merlin!"

"Sorry," the boy shrugged.

"I thought that you just had an eye condition."

"An eye condition that made my eyes turn _gold_?"

"I thought it was an _interesting_ eye condition," Arthur amended. He paused, looking pensive and then he shook his head abruptly. "But….no, you have to be lying. Merlin _stop _lying, you aren't good at it and never will be."

"Cor, the one time I want you to believe me and you're being a prat about it."

It was like the walls were closing in on him; threatening to crush him between them like a grain in a milling machine. He closed his eyes. This really hadn't been a good idea. Not only did he feel trapped by Arthur's words but he also felt trapped physically. He felt sick. It was beginning to get harder to breathe as his lungs wouldn't take in the amount of air they needed – he was hyperventilating. Why was he in such a damn small space?!

"If you are a sorcerer then how come I didn't know; in fact, why the hell were you serving me in the first place?" Arthur pointed out, thinking that he had come up with a hole in Merlin's argument.

"Well, you aren't the most observant of people. Need I mention Morholt?" Merlin replied, feeling a little guilty for bringing that up but he needed Arthur to believe him. "And I began working for you because I saved your life, remember? There I was, minding my own business and then I did the good deed of saving your life and ended up washing your dirty underwear for a living! Tell me, how is that fair?"

Merlin knew he was rambling but it was partially the fear of being stuck in the well and partially the frustration at the prince not believing that he could be a sorcerer that made him do it. When he was scared he talked. It was like an instinctual reaction.

"I don't understand…." Arthur sounded bewildered, as if the truth was finally sinking in. "You can't be…."

"I _am_!" Merlin yelled up, angry at the world and the stupid, inattentive prince.

And then there was silence.

The manservant waited for a few seconds and finally realised that Arthur had gone. He had _truly _gone. There was no face staring down at him anymore; it had vanished. Merlin slammed his fists against the wall opposite – venting his feelings on the solid, unforgiving surface. His skin split and stung but he didn't care. He was just so aggravated. It had all gone wrong. He'd said _everything _wrong.

"No, no, _no_!" he repeated over and over, hitting the stones with every word. "Argh!"

This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end of their friendship. That just wasn't fair. Merlin wasn't about to let that happen. No. He would take matters in his own hands and claw back the bond that he had spent so long forging. They were two sides of a coin. Parts of the same destiny. Without each other then they would fail.

"_Arthur_!" he bellowed up at the sky, barely registering that night had fallen now. All his fear had evaporated. He was now only focussed on one thing. "ARTHUR!"

He frantically tried scrabbling at the walls, breaking his fingernails off in the process. Even so he kept on trying and kept on shouting. He _had _to get the prince back.

"Arthur, if you don't get your backside back here now I'll-"

"You'll what?"

A shadow fell across the top of the well again with a familiar angular jaw and messy hair. His blue eyes glinted in the moonlight. Merlin stared for a moment, totally astounded by the presence of the man. For all his screaming he hadn't actually imagined the event of Arthur returning. They had been the cries of a desperate man.

"You'll _what_, Merlin?" he persisted, his tone indecipherable.

"Er…" the boy replied, stumped.

"Turn me into a toad? Blow me into smithereens with your _magic_?" Arthur said, grimly.

"_Arthur_…" the manservant breathed, horrified, "Don't do this."

"Do what? React badly? What did you expect?"

"I don't know."

"I was hardly going to clap my hands and jump for joy," Arthur replied, somewhat coldly. Merlin felt his spine prickle – he sounded so distant.

"_Please_, Arthur. Please believe that I'm a sorcerer but I would _never _do anything to hurt you. I'd kill _myself _before I'd do that."

"And why should I trust you?"

Merlin threw his hands up in the air. "_Because_ you trusted me before! Why should it be any different now? Do I look any different? Am I acting any different?"

"You're being a bit of a twat to be honest."

"_Apart _from that," Merlin cried, incredulously, "I'm still the same Merlin. I'm still the same Merlin that burnt your socks whilst trying to dry them on the fire. I'm still the same Merlin that fell asleep on his horse and then proceeded to fall off. I'm still the same Merlin that trips over his own feet whilst doing _anything_. I'm still the same Merlin that follows you anywhere, rain or shine, without you even having to ask me: to hunt your dratted deer, to fight demons and monsters, to find pretty maidens that _you _get to save from robbers. I may be able to perform magic but I'm still the same Merlin that's afraid of small, dark spaces."

"That may be true but this isn't about you being you; this is about the law," Arthur answered, seriously.

"Sometimes, laws are meant to be broken. Sometimes, laws aren't right."

"It's my father's word…" Arthur said but didn't finish his sentence.

"And do you follow it because you want to or because you have to?"

"_Merlin_, this is what I've learnt my whole life. You have to understand that."

"You let the Druid boy go against your father's wishes."

"He was a child, he hadn't done anything wrong."

"I'm your _friend_. Have I done anything wrong?"

Once again, a silence overcame the pair of them but this one wasn't awkward like all the times before. It was needed; Merlin understood that; he couldn't just keep pressing Arthur because eventually he would just clam up and not want to hear anymore. He had to do this reasonably slowly even though really he just wanted to burst with all the words that were building up inside him.

He tried to put himself in Arthur's shoes but, in all honesty, it was just too difficult. If their positions had been reversed then he wasn't really sure how he would react. He couldn't _imagine _it the opposite way round. Therefore, he knew that Arthur must be facing one of the biggest internal struggles of his life.

There was a small amount of shifting up above and Merlin tensed, feeling bits of debris fall on top of his head. Arthur had vanished from sight. No. Not again!

"Arthur!" he yelled.

"I'm still here, idiot," came the sharp reply, "I was just getting uncomfortable on my knees."

"Oh…" Merlin paused, "Just don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur replied but the manservant couldn't be sure of his reasons.

"Can I just say something?"

"Well, you've said an awful lot already, I don't think a few more words will make much difference."

"Well," the servant took that as a cue to go ahead, "Before I told you about my magic, _you_ _said _you didn't want me to die - you spend half your life trying to protect me, after all – so why should now be any different?"

"Because you're a _sorcerer_!" Arthur hissed, "You've broken the law _and _betrayed me."

"I've never betrayed you Arthur."

"You learnt sorcery."

Merlin sighed, casting his eyes up to the heavens. Why did everyone always assume that he had deliberately set out to be a warlock? It was so difficult to explain. He was unique but that only made everything even harder.

"I was born a sorcerer," he replied, "Just as_ you_ were born a prince. Neither of us had a choice in the matter; just as no child has the chance to pick their place in the world or their destiny. We're born with our paths already mapped out for us. People revere you because you are a prince; people want to _kill _me because I'm a sorcerer – not by choice but by design of a higher power. I bet you love being a prince what with all the privileges and the respect of the people but then again, I bet sometimes you _hate _it: the meetings, the expectations, the _need _to please your father. But it's a part of you just as much as magic is a part of me. Magic is beautiful but I still manage to loathe it because of the noose that it has put round my neck all my life, even though I shouldn't as it has also given me _so _much. Magic is as natural as the water that flows in the rivers or the leaves that grow on trees. It was created for a purpose – a good purpose – but has been twisted and ruined by bad people. Magic _itself_ is not evil. It never could be, just like a sword is not dangerous unless it's picked up by a bad person. You control your sword as I control my magic; for good."

"There seem to be an awful lot of evil people then," Arthur stated, astutely, "Considering all the terrible magic I've seen."

"There are but then there are the good and if you don't let the good ones develop then the bad will take over. But that's the same with the non-magic folk. Its how the world balances out: for every plus there must be a minus. But don't you see, Arthur, magic can be used to benefit you and your people? Have you any idea how many times I've saved the kingdom – and you in the process?"

Arthur snorted. "When have you saved me?"

"I could list them but that would be a waste of time," Merlin replied, flippantly, "But you should know that I don't regret a single one of them and even if you decide to kill me then I still won't. Then again, if you don't kill me then you might find out what the times were." He added a sharp grin. "A wise creature once told me that our destinies have been entwined since birth and to begin with I, cynically, didn't believe him but now, honestly, I really do."

"You keep talking about destinies but what exactly are our destinies?"

"You will become King of Camelot and unite the lands of Albion…"

Arthur frowned. "That's impossible, the kingdoms are so separated and constantly battling. There could never be peace enough to do such a thing….and under just one ruler. Anyway, how exactly are you meant to be involved in that?"

Merlin made a face. "Well, I've saved your ungrateful backside quite a few times so far so I like to think I put _something _towards your eventual kingdom. I'm just generally meant to help you, fighting off your allies and so forth. _Apparently_ it's been prophesised about."

"Is that why the Sphinx called you Emrys?"

Merlin started. He'd thought that the prince had forgotten about that completely; obviously not. Sometimes, Arthur really was more perceptive than he gave him credit for.

"Yes, I think, but even I don't understand all of the prophecy," Merlin admitted, tracing a pattern on the stone with his fingers.

The stars were shining in the navy blue sky now and both boys were surprised that the rescue party hadn't arrived yet. They had been here for what seemed like hours. White ghostly shapes of owls floated through the trees with their familiarly gentle _hoo-hoo _. Arthur couldn't even see his manservant now, as he stared into the hole, because he had been enveloped in darkness much like the forest. He was very slightly aware of a harvest mouse scurrying around in the leafy undergrowth but it seemed so insignificant now that he barely paid it any attention, even as it brushed his boot.

It was odd. His entire perspective on the world had been changed in just one afternoon. He had realised that Merlin had changed his character – for the better, so Morgana told him – but he didn't realise that the boy would have such a fundamental effect on his entire life. When he had first met the annoyingly bold peasant, he hadn't imagined that he would become his friend. But he had. And then, once he had become his friend, he hadn't thought that he could care for him quite so much. But he did.

And now he was a bloody sorcerer.

Secretly, Arthur had always known there was something _slightly _different about Merlin. He was unique. He had these weird little mannerisms that the prince could never quite understand and he always seemed strangely confident in situations that looked, at best, dire. To be honest, he'd known from the moment that Merlin had confronted him, that he wasn't your average peasant. Just how _un-average _he was hadn't even crossed his mind. It seemed quite obvious now but he never would have suspected.

Oh gods, but what was he meant to do _now_?

Leaning back, he lay on the hard turf and rested his head in his cupped hands. For a good time, he stared up at the velvety sky and considered his views on life. Were they skewed? Were the biased? Most likely because he hadn't ever been taught anything else. Having said that, although he got a rush out of vanquishing sorcerers and monsters, he couldn't say that he didn't see the beauty – as Merlin said – in what they were. Well, some of them. That unicorn was borne of magic and it was so pure that he couldn't even bear to touch it. Merlin had. Did that mean he was purer of heart? And then there had been that griffin – half lion, half eagle – and so magnificent. He remembered standing in wonder for a second before realising he had to kill it. And then there was Alizarin. He couldn't even begin to put into words the awe that he held for the dragon. It was a creature of the Old Religion, so ancient and so stunning.

With all these striking things stemming from magic, could it really be as terrible as Uther made out?

"You know…" Merlin's voice echoed up from the disused well, "I'm all for allowing you to ponder but perhaps you could get me out soon? I mean its _really _dark now."

"If you're a magician then why don't you magic _yourself _out?" Arthur drawled, without thinking. He was shocked by what he'd suggested.

"I'll only magic myself out if you accept me for who I am. Oh, and promise not to execute me," he added, as almost an afterthought.

Arthur smiled to himself. When it came to it, the manservant could still make him laugh, even in the most awkward and painful of situations. Everything seemed to be made better by the presence of Merlin. Perhaps, that's why he always commanded his company on every single trip that he made. He hadn't really thought of that before but it was true.

He came to a decision.

"Merlin…"

"Yes?" the boy's tone was eager.

"I trust you."

A pause. "And that means…?"

"I won't kill you and I won't turn you over to my father."

"Seriously?" There was so much hope and joy in Merlin's voice that Arthur felt immensely proud for coming to this decision. He just _knew _it was the right one.

"Seriously," he repeated.

"What made you….you know, decide _not _to murder me?"

"Let's just say that one of your arguments got through to me."

"Can't I know? Then I can use it on the king if I need to. It would be nice to know which is most effective."

"Trust _me _when I say that it won't work on the king," Arthur chuckled, "Are you going to come out now?"

"Er…well, all right, if you're sure. Give me a mo."

The prince listened attentively as his manservant scuffled around in the bottom of the pit and then he heard the boy mutter a few words that made no sense to him at all. It was like he was speaking French again but with a sore throat. He waited patiently at the top of the well and was not disappointed when Merlin appeared over the edge. He seemed to be floating on nothing and his eyes were glowing gold. After a moment, he landed.

"Wow, I've never levitated before," Merlin blinked and his eyes turned blue once more, "That could have ended _really _badly."

"Why didn't you do that before? Why did you stay down the well?"

"I told you, I wanted _you _to trust me before I came out. Besides, it was a lot safer down there where you couldn't reach me," Merlin replied, embarrassedly.

Arthur watched his manservant flush in the moonlight and saw the wry smile that curled his lips. He stared at his bruised face and his rumpled hair and the tatty clothes which hung off his bony frame. He thought about what it would be like to lose him and felt his heart shudder in his chest at the idea. Without a word, he did the only thing that came to him and stepped forward, enveloping the boy in a bear hug. Merlin tensed at first but then he relaxed into the hug and tried to stop the grin that was rapidly spreading across his face.

"Would now be a really inappropriate time to tell you that Alizarin can actually talk?" Merlin murmured into his shoulder.


	30. Reveal

**Author's Note - Thanks for the reviews. Sorry for the late update and the shocking quality of the chapter. I've been ill and got rusty in the last week!**

The town was a hub of activity in the period just after noon with people returning to their work after a well-earned lunch break. Leaving their wives to clean up after the meal, several of the men trudged back out to the fields in order to crack open the hard ground and sow the seeds ready for a new and fruitful harvest. Winter always made the turf difficult to use but they used oxen to churn up the ground. Little dots of golden seed peppered the brown earth, ready to sprout into life for the coming months.

Whilst the field-workers went back to their crops, the blacksmiths and silversmiths and coppersmiths took up their tools once more and began hammering their respective materials into shape. The hot, malleable metal soiled their clean hands with soot and burns once more. The rhythmic chink and clang issued from the shacks that they used to house their hearths and workshops, filling the afternoon and adding to the cacophony of human chatter, dogs barking and the sawing from the carpenter. Children's laughter filled the air as they tumbled down the street, unable yet to participate in the daily working lives of the peasants and therefore revelling in their short-lived freedom.

A five year old boy chased after his two older comrades, struggling to keep up because of his significantly shorter legs and the fact that people kept walking into him as they didn't see him. His bare feet slapped on the well-trodden path through the centre of the town and he skirted passed a loose flock of squawking white chickens before jumping over the cage that they should have been in. It was market day and the streets were crowded with people.

He put on a spurt of speed, arms pumping by his ribs, but he caught his foot in a coil of rope and was sent sprawling over into the dirt. Blinded by the dust and coughing loudly, he tried to sit up and winced as he realised some gritty particles had worked their way into his eyes. He rubbed them viciously, hoping to dislodge them.

"Hey, you all right there, little man? You took quite a tumble."

Through his watering eyes, the boy saw a man standing over him with a gentle smile on his face. He had a large hand extended towards the fallen child and the boy stared at it for a few moments, unsure. It wasn't often that a random stranger showed kindness to a filthy, uneducated peasant, especially one so well dressed and foreign. However, with the quick judgement of character that only young children possess, the boy took the proffered hand, a dazzling white grin spreading onto his grimy face.

The stranger hauled him easily to his feet as if he weighed no more than a feather and the youngster stared at his bulging muscles with awed eyes. The child's own father worked as a farmer but even he didn't have such well-defined arms. There was no doubt in his mind that this man was a soldier or a knight. He looked like a knight with the golden crest on his broad chest. And yet there was a tenderness, a friendliness about him that had the child immediately warming to him.

"Nothing hurt?" The man with dark eyes asked him, concernedly. Not understanding, the boy shrugged. "Well, that's good. You want to be more careful in the future. Why don't you go home to your mother and get cleaned up?" He turned away and continued shopping.

Now that he had lost his companions, the French boy latched onto the kind stranger immediately, following him as he browsed the stalls of the market. The man didn't seem to mind too much, he just kept glancing at the youngster with a knowing smile and occasionally would pat him on the shoulder and offer him food that he bought from various stands.

It was as he was browsing a jewellery shop, carefully looking at each and every necklace in turn, that another two men turned up. They were both muscular and tall too with golden dragons emblazoned on their tunics.

"Erec, we've got the stuff," the taller one said, holding up a bulging bag, "I'm starving and Tristram's annoying me. Are you done with your….jewellery shopping yet?" He received a punch on his arm for his comment.

The boy, quite fearful of the loud, rough men, huddled in the robes of Erec and stared at the other strangers with huge owl-eyes. Both of them stared back at him for a moment, looking confused.

"Erec?" another asked, "Why do you have what appears to be a small child attached to you?" His expression was befuddled as he scratched his head and pointed at the child.

"He's just been helping me with my shopping," Erec shrugged and ruffled his little friend's hair, "Its nice to have someone around with a mental age of more than two."

"Ha, I hope you're talking about Tristram and not me," the first one intervened, "But you can't keep him, Erec."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"I know you're missing your daughter-"

"Very much so."

"But he's not her."

"Segwarides," Erec sighed, "Don't you think I understand that? It was just nice to be around a child again. I miss her so much – you couldn't even imagine, you don't have children – and my wife….gosh, it _aches _to think about them. I just want to get home again. Then I will be happy."

Seg offered the older knight a sympathetic smile and walked over to gently pry the hand of Erec off the youngster – a hand he hadn't even realised that he'd placed. Pushing the child kindly away, he nodded and told him in stunted French to return home. After pausing for a moment, the boy looked at the three of them and then, without a word, hurried off into the crowd. They knew they would never find him again.

"Don't worry, Erec," Tristram clapped a palm on his shoulder, "We'll be heading back soon, once Arthur and Merlin have sorted out their lovers' tiff and you'll see your little girl."

Segwarides snorted. "_Trist_, I don't think Arthur would really appreciate being called Merlin's lover. In fact, I _know _he wouldn't. He'd probably knock your teeth down your throat."

"What? So you get to suggest they have a 'thing' going on but I'm not allowed?" the youngest knight asked, crossly.

"It's a privilege of those _in the know_, of which you aren't," Seg grinned, mockingly and crossed his arms over his chest.

"And what are we supposed to know about, eh, Segwarides?" Erec queried, turning his dark stare upon his companion with raised eyebrows. He had very much the look of a patient father waiting to be told that their son had broken a vase or something.

"Well, it's not really my place to tell you," the man shrugged quickly and wandered off.

Both Erec and Tristram exchanged a look because it wasn't only Arthur that had noticed a shift in the group dynamic. They too had recognised how much time Segwarides and Merlin were spending together and how secretive they became when they were discovered talking alone in the woods. It was both unusual and disconcerting. Erec, especially, didn't like it because he could see that it was upsetting the young prince and he had been tasked with looking after Arthur and making sure he was happy. He wasn't about to fail at the last hurdle. It also slowed up the journey home and therefore prevented him from returning to his daughter and wife which was something that he desperately wanted to do. They were on home straight but lagging terribly.

The younger blond haired man quirked an eyebrow and jerked his head as if questioning 'shall we go after him'? In reply, Erec shook his head and sighed, turning back to his shopping. They didn't need to accost the other knight now; they just needed to finish up and get going. After all, soon the light would be dying and Arthur would undoubtedly be wondering where they had got to – and he shouldn't have to worry needlessly in the mature knight's opinion considering all that he'd been through. Rubbing a palm down the back of his neck, he focussed on the necklaces once more.

They were a bit tacky in his opinion and something that his wife could easily make at home. Some were made from thongs of leather and others weaved from colourful bits of material and threaded with beads. However, there were so many of the same in his own town that he wanted to get something different, exotic. Surely that wasn't too much to ask considering they were in France?

Rifling through a large pile, Erec's finger caught the soft edge of a necklace and he tugged at it, pulling it loose. This one, too, was made from leather but it was soft both in colour and texture. There wasn't anything too fancy about it – his daughter could get plenty of those back home considering they were a noble, perhaps at the rougher end, family. On the end hung a beautifully carved heart made of wood and, after closer inspection, he realised that it opened out to show a tiny carving of an eagle soaring over trees inside. It was beautiful.

"How much do you want for this?" he asked in his best French and held out an array of coins.

"This," the stallholder replied, plucking two bronze coins from his palm. "This is good. Nice doing business with you."

So pleased was he with his purchase that Erec span, eagerly, on the spot, ready to inform the others that they could finally return to camp and Segwarides could fill his belly. However, he was met with a sea of unfamiliar faces and no matter how hard he looked, he could not pick out his friends. He pondered whether they were playing a childish game with him but he guessed not considering they wanted to go as much as he did. Then where had they gone?

Eventually, he began to search the town, questioning random strangers as to whether they had seen the missing men. He was just about to give up when he heard a screech of fear. Instinct kicked in and, without thinking, Erec charged towards the source of the noise. It was something that they were always taught by Arthur: to help whoever was in peril. Though, perhaps, in hindsight, he should have considered the repercussions of charging towards danger without backup and any idea of what he was up against.

As it was, the dark haired knight careened into the path of a sharp sword and almost lost an arm for his boldness. Caught off balance by his impromptu dodge, Erec's shoulder hit the ground with a solid thud and he felt the jar all through his body. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the searing pain, the man rolled over and launched himself to his feet, grabbing the sword from his scabbard. In front of him stood a relatively normal looking man with a glinting blade in his fist – in his other hand there was a mace. For a second, the knight wondered how he was planning on using both but he soon found out as the stranger charged, wielding his weapons with skill. Even with his experience, Erec was finding it difficult to evade the well-aimed blows and deliver some of his own.

"We don't want you English _pigs_!" His opponent spat, emphasising the word. "We don't want you here. You dirty our town with your nasty ways! And you bring _monsters _with you; monsters that will hurt our women and eat our babies."

"Hang on…what?" Erec frowned, bewildered, as he ducked another thrust. The vein in his temple throbbed in time with his rapidly thumping heart.

"That monster!" the other man shouted, throwing an accusing finger to his left and then continuing his assault.

Erec barely had time to look between the blows from the sword and the mace combined but he managed a quick glance and blanched at what he saw. Alizarin, now even taller than the houses he was surrounded by, was writhing and screaming as he was pelted with the bolts from crossbows and the punishing points of spears. His scales, although tough, had not yet reached maturity and therefore were vulnerable to even mortal weapons. It was obvious he was trying to fly away, to escape the pain, but the poor dragon had not yet mastered that art yet. His wings merely flapped uselessly in the air as he spouted intermittent fire balls at the villagers attacking him. Erec felt terribly sorry for him.

At the creature's feet fought Segwarides and Tristram, trying to dodge both to lethal blades of their opponents and the heavy stamping of their companion. They were battling valiantly but even they could not hold off the onslaught of weapon-wielding villages that had suddenly poured upon them. Segwarides managed to catch Erec's eye and he recognised something akin to an apology there. The older knight wasn't sure what on earth he could be apologising for but he had a mind to find out once he had defeated this dratted adversary.

With a well-timed feint to the left, he unbalanced the other man and then drove his sword through the fellow's side, gaining no pleasure from defeating him. This wasn't like fighting a sorcerer or an armoured soldier; he was just a peasant who was defending his town from what looked like a horrifying beast. In fact, Erec couldn't help but feel terribly guilty. Hurrying towards the fray, he focussed on rescuing his friends instead.

Alizarin was still roaring and was now in the process of bucking off a couple of bold boys who had clambered onto his back with their swords, ready to slice his exposed throat. He flapped his wings desperately in an attempt to dislodge them but they just kept coming – he was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. What on earth would Kilgharrah think? Alizarin had failed him already and he hadn't even reached Camelot. He didn't even _know _what his destiny was. Why was he so weak? Why could he not fly? He was certain it was not natural to be so useless as a dragon; they were meant to be proud, powerful creatures who commanded respect and were not set upon by angry peasants. They were meant to breathe fire and char people to their bones. They were meant to be able to _fly_! This was his biggest disappointment; if he couldn't take to the skies then what kind of dragon was he? The feeling of unworthiness was threatening to overcome him.

And he hadn't even managed to deliver the message to Arthur's knights. He'd let the prince down too. That was hardly a way to win him over and make him trust him. Against his arched neck he could feel the loose rope and the message attached to it. It annoyed him not to be able to tell the knights with his own mouth but he had to listen to what Merlin said because it was apparently for his own good. Still, it was so constraining.

"What….the….hell…." Segwarides spoke between his grunts and pants as he parried the weapons of the townsfolk, "….are….you…doing….here….you…..stupid….dragon?! Were you planning on getting us killed or did it just _happen_?! Ah!" He let out a yelp as a flailing blade caught his bicep, slicing the skin. Fortunately, he moved quickly enough that it wasn't too deep and danced away, taking his opponent down with another blow.

Turning to Tristram he yelled, "This is useless! There's no way we can take on them all!"

"I know!" the younger knight shouted back, struggling on his leg that had only recently healed, "But we have to keep fighting otherwise we're dead men."

"Ha, where are Arthur and Merlin when you need them?" he grunted, ironically.

Evening had fallen and it was getting more and more impossible to see. The townspeople had torches but the only light that the knights had was that of Alizarin and the flames that he breathed into the blackness. They shimmered and wavered in the sky, casting a strange glow over the scene of skirmishing men with their glinting scythes, pitchforks, swords and maces. Fierce faces were illuminated, each as lined with determination as the next, as they launched themselves into battle.

"Of all the dragons we had to land ourselves with," Segwarides yelled angrily at the heavens, "We had to get one that's completely bloody hopeless!"

Alizarin flinched above him, hearing the words and feeling the barb. He knew that the young knight didn't know that he could understand but it still hurt – a lot. Blinking, he renewed his efforts but knew that they would not satisfy Seg. The man was right; he was useless.

Throwing his weight sideward, the dragon was startled by a blinding flash that came from his right and he let out a strangled roar of terror and narrowly avoided crushing Erec under his wild feet. Struggling to see through the haze of smoke, fire and the darkness of the evening, the beast could just about make out two outlines. One stood, tall and straight-backed with his arm outstretched whilst the other remained quiet by his side, watchful. Immediately, he realised who they were. Merlin and Arthur.

He realised now that the young warlock must have revealed his powers to the Pendragon prince. That must have taken a lot of courage; a courage that Alizarin couldn't hope to parallel. The boy was using his magic now, casting the peasants back with warning waves of power that knocked them off their feet but did not really harm them. A defensive barrier of enchantments had been cast around the dragon and the knights – a glowing golden bubble. They were safe.

The townspeople had backed off completely now and were staring at the magic with naked fear in their eyes. It was one thing to fight off a monster but another to combat sorcery. They knew the strength that sorcerers' possessed and were not about to interfere; if this magic-user had come to take the dragon away then that was good. Stumbling, they all scurried back to the safety of their huts, recognising the fact that if the sorcerer felt like it then he could just burn all their homes to the ground. It had happened before, after all. Fortunately, this one left them alive.

**

Merlin let his arm drop to his side as his eyes turned blue once more but he didn't dare look at Arthur. Although his friend _had _accepted him, it didn't mean he couldn't change his mind after such a powerful display of magic. He merely waited, like a child waiting to be scolded or slapped, with his head bent slightly. The prince said nothing; instead, he strode towards his knights with an unfamiliar rigidity to his shoulders. Merlin guessed he was bracing himself to the repercussions of his manservant's blatant use of magic. It was bound to happen sooner or later, Arthur had to have understood that but perhaps he didn't realise quite how soon.

Taking a deep breath, he tailed the prince reluctantly, not sure whether he wanted to see how the knights would react. Obviously, Segwarides already knew so that meant Merlin didn't need to worry about him but it depended on the other two. They could go either way. Erec was loyal to Uther - he had been for years - but he did seem to have warmed to Arthur over this trip and he valued his opinion. As the oldest knight never said much, the manservant didn't know how he felt towards him but he'd never been particularly hostile. Tristram was undoubtedly faithful to Arthur and Merlin hoped that would play in his favour.

"Sire! Thank the gods you arrived when you did!" Tristram hurried forward and then halted in front of Arthur. "How on earth did you cast that light to make them run away?"

That threw the prince for a moment and he almost grinned at Tristram's naivety. His belief that Arthur could pull off such a stunt was quite flattering, in all honesty, but then Arthur had always known the boy idolised him like an older brother.

"It wasn't me, Tristram," Arthur replied.

"Oh." The boy looked confused. "Then who?"

"Merlin…" Arthur began then stopped when he felt the presence beside him that signalled the arrival of his servant. He turned slightly, towards the other man and caught his eye.

"He did magic," Erec stated. He was, of course, more on the ball than his younger comrade. His dark grey eyes stared intensely at Merlin who tried not to cower under his gaze. "You made that shield."

Arthur was about to speak but Merlin beat him to the punch. "Yes I did."

Erec didn't seem to know what to say, he opened his mouth only to close it again and resuming his scrutiny of the manservant. His expression was flecked with mistrust, no doubt bred from years under Uther's fearsome rule, and his sword, still shining with blood, hadn't dropped. Merlin tried not to look guilty, tried not to look threatening in any way but he couldn't be sure if he got his message across. If anything Erec looked even more wary. He gulped.

"Merlin's a sorcerer and I know that may come as a shock but, despite what my father says, I am not going to kill him and I expect you, as _my _knights, not to tell the king."

"But Arthur…" Erec choked.

"I understand your suspicions, Erec, but Merlin is a good man. You've seen that. Did you not see now how he saved your life?"

"That may be but he could betray you, my lord," Erec said.

"Tristram?" Arthur turned to the youngster, hoping that he would support him.

The boy looked at him with shining eyes and then a small smile broke across his face. "I wouldn't harm Merlin even if you hadn't told me not to." Tristram seemed to suddenly realise what he'd said and backtracked quickly. "Not that I'd disobey you! It's just…"

"I understand," Arthur grinned at him. "Segwarides, what do _you _say?"

"Its fine with me," Segwarides shrugged.

Merlin slapped a palm to his forehead behind his master and groaned inwardly. That had to be one of the worst things that the tall, blond knight could say. He knew it would be difficult to cover up the fact that Seg already knew about his magic but he could have tried to be a bit more subtle. They were both done for now. He closed his eyes, waiting for the impending tongue lashing.

"Really?" Arthur's voice had risen in pitch to show his surprise. He had pegged Segwarides as the knight that would put up most of a fight considering his hostility to Alizarin and magic in general. Then again, he and Merlin had been pretty friendly. Perhaps, he was putting that friendship first. "You don't mind? You won't tell the king?"

"Why should I? You've told me not to so why should I go against your orders?" Segwarides replied in such a nonchalant way that he could have been talking about the weather. Merlin had to admit he was impressed, especially as Arthur seemed to buy it. "I don't know what Erec's making such a fuss about. I thought he was the one who just wanted to get home. The longer you make a protest, Er, the longer we're stuck here."

Erec grumbled but said nothing.

"Is that a yes, Erec?" Arthur queried, quirking an eyebrow.

"I guess. For now."

"Right, good," the prince said and clapped his hands together. "As for Alizarin, well, I don't think he really has a _say_, do you Merlin?"

There was so much meaning layered into that sentence that the manservant struggled to keep a straight face. They had already made a deal not to tell the knights about that and as long as Alizarin didn't blurt anything out then they would be fine. However, glancing up at the giant lizard, Merlin noticed that he looked rather depressed – which was quite impressive for a reptile. There were a few wounds littering his red scales but they were mainly superficial.

Merlin shook his head in reply to Arthur's question and walked up to the dragon, stroking his trembling leg with a soft hand. He smiled up at the creature.

_You're fine now. _

_I was useless. I don't deserve to be a dragon. I don't deserve to fulfil a prophecy. _

_What prophecy is this? Is it part of the destiny that Kilgharrah told you about? _

_Yes, I think so. _Alizarin frowned. _But I don't know. I just know that I'm not good enough. They must have got the wrong dragon. _

_Don't be stupid. If you doubt your worth then I'm sure then I'm sure that will just make you even more of a hero. _

_I can't even fly, Merlin. _

The young dragon shook his head and turned away. Merlin stared sadly at him but knew that he wouldn't get any further with him tonight. He was a manservant, not a counsellor so he couldn't hope to advise the dragon in the right way. He would tackle the lack of confidence that Alizarin had in the morning. For now, he was just going to think about the _giant _hurdle he had just crossed. Arthur knew. Gods, Arthur _knew_. And that felt great.


	31. Learning to Fly

**Author's Note - Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I am so glad you are still enjoying it and that new readers are even joining and trawling through this many, many, _many _chapter epic. Thanks for your patience and persistence! **

The atmosphere in the camp was chilly and that wasn't just because of the drop in temperature that had come overnight. Everything seemed heavy and oppressive as Merlin woke and saw the dark, bloated rainclouds suspended in the sky. The forest was gloomy and quiet with only the occasional cackle or caw of a raven. He had expected to feel light and exuberant now that such a great weight had been lifted from him and, in a way, he was because everything _had _been leading up to this moment; all his childhood, all his time in servitude, so he could fulfil his true potential at Arthur's side. But he felt like he had lost something, something that he hadn't even realised was there and that he had taken for granted.

It was the rapport that Arthur and he used to share. The blind trust that the prince put in him without even realising why. They could never really return to how they were before and, in all honesty, Merlin had _loved _how they were before. He knew that Arthur would never look at him in the same way again and that he wouldn't just be the bumbling servant who could play jokes and taunt his master. Now he was a threat…well, no, not a threat exactly but with his power came a different relationship that he and Arthur would now have to share. The prince probably wouldn't feel the need to surreptitiously protect him anymore or confide in him because he was just a manservant. As a sorcerer he was more of an equal and probably less of a friend; they bonded because Arthur could boss him around and Merlin could annoy him terribly but without that….would it _work_?

The truth was that the dynamic had altered irrevocably and he would do anything to get that boyish banter back.

Not only was he sure that his relationship with Prince Arthur would change but he knew that he had alienated Erec completely; he had seen it in the knight's grey eyes. So conditioned was he by the king's constant reign of terror and his campaign against sorcery that he could not accept Merlin for what he was. It hurt the manservant to admit that but he may have just lost one friend for good. That was a _gutting _feeling that twisted and wrenched inside him like sadistic hand had taken his stomach and was turning it inside out.

And because he had estranged Sir Erec, he had split the camp, hence the chilly atmosphere. He watched with disconcerted eyes as the said knight finished tidying up his roll matt and sleeping sack, attaching them firmly onto his saddle, his gaze never flickering from its task. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could also see Tristram quietly getting on with his breakfast whilst Segwarides fiddled with the fastenings on his bag. Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Pondering his friend's absence, Merlin suddenly felt someone observing him and he swiftly looked around him, catching sight of Erec turning back to his task. Sighing and rubbing his hands up and down his cold arms, the servant hauled himself to his feet and stretched, yawning widely, trying to break through the tense, almost fragile mood. Nobody spared him another glance so he merely scuffed all his things together and threw them in a messy jumble on Brecon's back. The horse buffeted him warmly and then smacked his lips, suggesting he was hungry. Scratching behind his ears, Merlin offered him some grain and then went about feeding the other horses. Although the animals could get a lot of nutrients and energy from the grass and other plant life, they tended to supplement the meals with oats and other filling, fibrous things.

He swivelled away from Brecon, his fingers trailing across the animal's black blaze for just another second, as he searched the camp for Alizarin. It was as he realised that he too was absent that Merlin considered the almost ludicrous idea that Arthur could have taken Alizarin away for a quiet chat. That didn't seem likely considering the prince's initial reaction to hearing the dragon could talk.

"You _what_?" Arthur sprung away from him, his face a picture of astonishment. "Merlin! Don't be a fool. Next you'll be telling me that pigs can fly and that fairies are real!"

"They _are_ real!" Merlin exclaimed, indignantly.

"That's beside the point," Arthur barely faltered except to give his manservant an odd look, "I don't think you want to be joking with me considering what _else _you just informed me of."

"It's true."

That had certainly been an _interesting _conversation, perhaps even more so than the initial sorcerer talk. It didn't help that they were both as stubborn and hard-headed as one another, both arguing their corners as to how it was and wasn't possible that Alizarin could talk. Eventually Merlin, using a little magical help, proved that he was correct.

Although it was faintly amusing to consider Arthur conversing with a dragon, the sorcerer knew that he should probably go find them before the prince got too freaked out and completely bottled. He remembered the first time that he had spoken to Kilgharrah, he had been both petrified and stunned; it wasn't easy confronting a fifty foot dragon. If things went too badly then Arthur could lose it completely and go back on accepting Merlin. Merlin certainly didn't want that.

Without a word to the others, he hurried off into the forest.

* * *

Leaning against a tree and watching the massive creature shift uncomfortably in front of him, Arthur was struck by a thought. All throughout Alizarin's short life, Arthur had never seen the dragon eat. Did dragons eat? Admittedly, he hadn't paid _much _attention to the hatchling as he had grown but surely he must feed off something considering he was so big. First impressions: the sharp teeth and the lethal looking claws; suggested to Arthur that he was a carnivore but that seemed implausible as the prince he would have noticed dead animals lying around.

Perhaps, that would be an interesting starting point of conversation. Well, it would be _a _starting point of conversation considering he hadn't even tried to speak to the dragon yet. It just seemed so strange and he wasn't sure he was going to like talking to a magical beast; it was a step too far in his book. Even so, he had to get it over with if he was going to use Alizarin as an ally in the fight against sorcery…

But was there a battle against sorcery anymore? His head felt so muddled and confused. He had accepted Merlin because he was his friend and he _knew _he could trust him and he accepted Alizarin because _Merlin _told him to but what about all the other sorcerers and magical beings out there? What was to say that they too didn't want peace and harmony? Such a thought really hurt Arthur's head and he decided to push it to the back of his mind. He would deal with such torment later – whenever later was.

"Soooo….." he began, in a very awkward manner, tapping his fingers on his leg as if that would dispel some of the uneasiness, "I was…er….wondering….what do you eat?"

The dragon did a double take, raising a scaled eyebrow as he cocked his head to one side. He stared at Arthur for a long moment with those large golden orbs and then padded forwards and turning when he reached the end of the clearing, as if pacing. Watching with curious eyes, Arthur saw the ground, softened by the recent rain; give beneath his massive feet leaving huge prints in his wake. Alizarin was unaware of his effect on the world around him but the prince observed the pines around him sway from his movement and the earth beneath him quaked. Arthur had to remind himself that the dragon was still a youngster, despite his unearthly size.

Eventually, Alizarin stopped and sat back on his haunches in a pose that Arthur recognised from watching the dragon with Merlin. Perhaps it was his conversational stance, making himself _slightly _smaller in an effort to look less imposing. In Arthur's opinion….it didn't really do much. He still felt tiny.

"You know?" the voice was rich and low. For a second Arthur wasn't sure whether it was actually coming from the dragon because it seemed so absurd. However, by watching his leathery lips, he knew that it _was_ Alizarin.

"Er…yeah, Merlin kind of told me," Arthur said, scratching the back of his head, "In kind of a weird way if I'm being honest. Anyway, that doesn't matter; I'm not going to hurt you."

"I suppose that's good to know," Alizarin smiled.

"For you," the prince replied, blowing out his cheeks and running a slightly anxious hand through his blond locks, "but probably not for my father. He'd – _god _– he'd be _so _angry."

"Your father isn't here."

"Well observed," the man said, dryly.

Alizarin blinked. "Why should it be any different if he was?"

"Because….well….he doesn't trust magic in any shape or form. It's complicated. Kind of hard to explain in fact but if he knew that I was letting you live after he _explicitly _told me to kill you….well, he'd probably kill _me_."

"I'm sure he wouldn't, not if he's your father."

"You don't know him." Arthur frowned and shook his head.

"I know that he killed almost my entire race," Alizarin pointed out, "And I still don't think he'd kill you. You're far too precious to him. Every son is precious to their father."

"How would you know?" Arthur said before he could stop himself. His eyes widened, horrified. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean…"

"I understand your feelings, sire," Alizarin nodded his crimson head once at the young man before turning his gaze skywards, observing the grey heavens with an unreadable expression. So taken was he by the majestic spectacle of the dragon that Arthur almost missed the title he had been given. It seemed so ludicrous to have such a regal looking creature call him 'sire', even after his disrespect. "And I know I have no father and therefore very little experience but I can imagine."

"I'm sorry for…you know…." Arthur's brow furrowed and he trailed a soft hand over the rough bark of the tree, feeling the guilt, that wasn't even his to bear, course through him.

A curtain of silence dropped between the two and neither one seemed to want to break it. The huge scarlet dragon sat, watching the clouds rolling overhead and the small knight stood stiffly against his oak, feeling the weight of the world on his young shoulders.

In the canopy of the forest, a single sparrow twittered its cheery song as it dodged and danced among the twisted branches and spiralling leaves. Fleetingly, it passed a dozing owl that watched it with one open eye but was too full from a good night's hunting to pursue. The speckle breasted bird alighted daintily on a jutting branch above the dragon and the man, flicking its head with interest. The curved shells of Alizarin's ears turned slightly towards its chirruping voice, enjoying the sound.

Finally, he spoke, "I consume magic."

"What?" Arthur asked, bewildered.

"You asked, before, what I ate. I'm telling you. I consume magic like you eat bacon or bread. Well, no, not exactly because I don't even have to think about it. Did Merlin ever tell you about magic?"

"Well…yes."

"I mean the _real _magic," Alizarin stated, softly, "Not the kind that conjures creatures or ends lives or moves objects. This is raw magic. It's the kind of natural magic that has been on this earth since the beginning. As dragons, we…_I _have an ancient knowledge of it. You can't see it but it's always there, all around us." As he spoke, the dragon turned his great head, casting his eyes among the trees and then looking straight at Arthur with the same buffeting intensity that Merlin had once had.

"How…?" Arthur wasn't even sure what he was asking but he just knew he wanted the dragon to keep speaking.

"This magic is what _makes _me. I am completely moulded from it – a true magical being. There are so few true magical beings: the dragon, the unicorn, the phoenix. Everything else was conjured or created by learnt magic but we just…are. Raw magic is very rare in people; in fact it should be impossible," Alizarin paused, then, "Save one person-"

"Merlin," Arthur breathed and he just knew he was right.

The young dragon nodded. "He's one of a kind."

"Hmm…." The prince looked pensive. "You can say that again." Suddenly, he blinked, as if snapping out of a trance and pointed a warning finger at the massive beast. "But don't you tell him that!" he said, sharply.

"Ha, you don't have to worry about your feelings towards, Merlin, he's quite a character," Alizarin chuckled.

Arthur shook his head. "He's my best friend. At one point I thought he was my _only _friend. Am I a horrible person for being scared of admitting that to his face? Am I a horrible friend for at one point considering turning the person I trust most over to be executed?"

"Arthur," Alizarin said, slowly, "Firstly, I expect that Merlin already knows how you feel and secondly, it's understandable to be confused about what you want to do and as long as you don't follow through then you've done _nothing _wrong. We all have obstacles to overcome, sire, trust me, I know."

Arthur stared at the dragon and wondered how he could be so knowledgeable at such a young age. It must be a gift of being magical. After all, he'd matured in size quickly, why not in his intelligence too? It really surprised the man how world-wise Alizarin seemed considering he'd had very little experience.

He also pondered what obstacles that a dragon would have to overcome considering he was so big that he could probably crush anything in his way. It almost amused him to think that Alizarin had problems.

"What kind of problems do dragons have?" he asked, curiously.

"Well…" Somehow, Alizarin managed to pull off looking embarrassed even though he already had scarlet cheeks. "I can't fly."

Arthur couldn't help it. He spluttered. Perhaps, it was because the idea of a dragon not being able to take flight was so ludicrous or perhaps, it was because he thought that Alizarin was joking. However, he regretted his reaction immediately when he saw the creature's disheartened, humiliated expression.

"I'm a useless excuse for a dragon." Alizarin hung his head and knotted his brow, staring at the ground with a self-loathing in his eyes that had even Arthur sympathising. "And I'm a coward."

"You're not."

"I am."

"Come on, don't be stupid, Alizarin," the prince stated, calmly, "You're only as brave as you make yourself and if you take that attitude then you certainly won't have the courage to face your adversaries."

Then, with a courage and boldness that Arthur hadn't believed even _he _had, the young golden haired man walked steadily towards the huge dragon and, taking a deep breath, he placed a hand on the animal's hide. It was warm to the touch, like the last embers of a dying fire, and dry with a slight roughness unlike a snake's skin but similar to the scales of a lizard. Arthur remembered, vividly, his lizard hunting games when he was little that would have him entertained for hours. He knew that if he went back and told his former self that he would be touching a dragon then the small boy would never have believed him.

Alizarin didn't move under his palm. In fact, he had stiffened, as if he worried that if he made one single move then he would scare the prince away like a skittish deer. They stayed like that for some time. It wasn't an awkward silence and although Arthur had felt odd and a little uneasy to begin with, touching Alizarin didn't bother him anymore.

Eventually, the creature gently moved his leg and Arthur felt the ripples of his muscles beneath the surface of his tough skin. There was something else there too, that sent tingles up his arm and down his spine. Magic. Alizarin was actually emanated magic from him like escaping heat.

Suddenly a little nervous again, Arthur pulled back and let his arms drop by his sides. True, he _was _getting more used to magic but he still had a long way to go. He could feel the mental barrier in his mind that prevented this kind of contact, this kind of bonding and it would take awhile to remove it completely.

"You _must _be able to fly. That's what dragons do, along with breathing fire and we've seen you do that."

"What if something went wrong?" Alizarin said, sounding very like a small child rather than a massive dragon.

"You've got wings haven't you?" Arthur replied, admonishingly, "Why don't you _use _them?"

"I can't."

"Can't isn't a word that I like to hear," the prince answered, firmly, getting into the mode that he used when training his knights. "Now, flap them."

* * *

Merlin could hear something. The further he walked, the louder it became until he was certain that the sound that he was listening to was the breaking of a _lot _of branches. In fact, he was certain he felt the forest shudder around him. This feeling was confirmed when he got so close to the source of the sound that he was knocked right off his feet by a violent shake of the earth. Stunned, he scrambled to his feet and charged through the undergrowth, ready to face whatever foe was creating such a ruckus.

As it turned out, he didn't have to because as he burst through a pair of young saplings, he clapped eyes on a scene that he never would have imagined. Alizarin was frantically trying to flap his wings but every time he got a few metres off the ground, he would veer off and crash into a tree or two. The remnants of a sycamore tree lay scattered on the leafy ground from where it had been blasted apart on impact. Beneath the dragon scurried Arthur, trying to encourage the beast in any way he could but having to dodge flailing claws in the process. His golden locks were messy and full of twigs, undoubtedly evidence of a few two many near misses with the felled trees.

"Cor," Merlin said, running a hand through his jet black hair, "And there I was thinking the rampaging elephant had come back to haunt us."

Arthur spun on the spot and offered him the biggest grin that the manservant had seen in a long time. It dazzled even him, the master of dazzling smiles. He blinked, surprised, and then cocked his head to one side, striding forward.

"You fancy telling me what's going on?"

The prince quirked an eyebrow. "I would've thought it would be obvious, Merlin, even to you; Alizarin is learning how to fly."

"And you're helping him?" the manservant asked, amusedly. It was an expression that reminded Arthur of the time he asked whether he was really cooking for Gwen.

"Well, yes," the prince replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm pretty good at most things and I'm sure if I had wings then I'd be a dab hand at flying too."

"Wow," Merlin rolled his eyes, "And that's not big-headed _at all_."

"It's the truth and don't you deny it," Arthur said, strolling over to punch his friend on the arm.

"I would say that you're doing a pretty good job of helping him destroy the forest but I'm not sure about the flying part," the warlock retorted, glibly. "But you both look like you're enjoying yourselves so who am I to judge?"

"_Exactly_." Arthur smirked. "You know, you really are quicker than you come across, Merlin."

"I do try," Merlin sighed. Perhaps their relationship hadn't changed after all.

They both watched as the giant dragon took another go, launching himself into the air with an almighty thrust of his legs. His wings flapped and began to lift him up. Straight up.

"Yes!" Arthur yelled, punching the air. "He did it!"

Alizarin too was roaring with joy as the steady thrum of his beating wings filled the sky. He was still getting the hang of it but he was finally flying!

Just at that moment, they heard the thudding of hooves and Tristram thundered into the clearing on his bay gelding. Pulling the horse up sharply, the boy leapt from his horse effortlessly and then only paused to stare a moment at the still hovering Alizarin before opening his mouth.

"My lord," he panted, breathlessly, "We have had an urgent letter, from a messenger of Lord Phillip of Brittany. He brings news from your father: Vortigern is invading Camelot with an army of five hundred men, some of whom are sorcerers." He spared a glance for Merlin there. "He wants you to return _immediately _to lead the army. Oh…" the boy paused, gulping, "And there's another thing….you see, well, he says there is a dragon on the side of Vortigern – and it's not the one from our dungeons."

Arthur had turned whiter than a sheet but Merlin was quicker to respond.

"That's impossible! Kilgharrah and Alizarin are the last dragons in existence. It can't be true."

"I don't think the king would lie, Merlin," Tristram replied, sounding a little unsure.

"Of course not but….gods!" The manservant raked his hands over the crown of his head and shook it, dazedly. "_Gods_."

"We must return," Arthur snapped, abruptly, "Now. Come on." The young man took off at a sprint, barrelling through the trees. Merlin gave chase as Tristram remounted his horse and Alizarin crashed after them.

"But Arthur, how?" Merlin panted.

"How am I meant to know?"

"I'll tell you someone who will," the warlock said, suddenly, his step faltering as he realised.

"Who?"

"Artemus."

"The hunchback?"

"It was _he _who told us that Alizarin's was the last egg in existence and yet the rumours originated in Britain." He slapped his forehead. "How could we have been so _stupid_?! Such words could not have travelled so far, not from Italy to Britain. I must talk to him."

"We've got to go back to Camelot," Arthur declared, "My father ordered it."

Merlin snorted, sarcastically. "Arthur, _please_, he won't even notice I'm gone."

"You're not going alone."

"Of course I am. I'm not a baby, Arthur, you've seen that much," Merlin stated, his eyes hardening with resolve. "It will be quicker. Besides, I can go with Alizarin. He can fly me."

"W-what?" Arthur spluttered, skidding into the camp and, realising everything had been packed, grabbed Llamrei. She tossed her mane irritably at his rushed manner, especially when he kicked her side by accident in his hurry. "He's only just learnt. It's too dangerous."

"We'll be fine. I need to confront Artemus to get all the facts before we go into battle. We have to know where that dragon came from and whether there could be more. Go. Go on. You need to get moving."

Hitting the rump of Arthur's steed, he tried to send them packing but the prince was immovable.

"Once you've spoken to him you must return _straight _to Camelot. I need you there. And Alizarin."

"I understand," Merlin replied, "Gosh, I didn't know you'd miss me this much."

"Merlin, this is no time for joking," Arthur replied, seriously.

"I know, I know, now get a move on! Who knows, we'll probably be back before you considering you've still got two days journey left."

"One if we ride through the night and get the ship in the evening," Arthur corrected.

"Just bloody go!" Merlin cried, practically pushing Llamrei out of the camp.

With one last worried glance over his shoulder, the prince and his two companions disappeared, reluctantly, into the foliage on their horses with Brecon in tow. Merlin watched them leave for a few moments and then, heaving a great sigh, he turned to Alizarin.

"You trust me to carry you back to Britain?" the young dragon asked, eagerly.

"Er…well." Merlin smiled weakly. After all, he hadn't been entirely truthful to Arthur when he'd said they would be fine. Seeing Alizarin's falling face, however, he added hastily. "Yeah, of course I do. You'll be great but first….a _little _more practice."


	32. Hurrying Home

**Author's Note - Thanks for all the reviews. Was it just me or was fanfiction messing up all the emails? Anyway, this is the longest chapter so far. Everything is heading towards the climax! Whoop!**

**Guess who we have in this chapter?! Well, you'll have to read on. :)**

With the fate of his father's kingdom hanging in the balance, Arthur didn't let up in his gallop across France. The quartet pounded across scraggy scrubland, through thickets and ditches and forests without halting for a rest. Their horses seemed to sense the urgency of their masters and didn't let up on the relentless pace; their hooves barely touching the ground as they flew over the difficult terrain. Evening was falling with the sun casting a dying orangey purple hue across the countryside, gradually enveloping everything in darkening shadows.

Candle-lit villages passed by like blurs, the colours melting together until they were merely blotches on the landscape behind them. All four of them ignored the sounds of laughter, the temptation of comfort and warmth, the rumbling of their unfed stomachs. Their home was in jeopardy and they needed to be there to protect it. Arthur, especially, didn't want to let his father down.

Skidding down a brush slope, the prince's breath caught, abruptly, in his throat as he caught sight of the smooth plain of the sea stretching out before them. It shone like a mirror in the moonlight which had replaced the glow of the sun; tinted with silver rather than gold. Gesturing for his knights to follow him down the hillside, the group charged into the sleepy port town, descending on the shipping headquarters. Out of the corner of a glinting blue eye, Arthur spotted a large ship bobbing gently in the harbour and he sorely hoped that it was due to set out tonight. If not, then he was willing to pay anything.

Tethering their horses outside, the four tall men bashed through the door of the grey stone house, not caring about startling the occupants. Essentially, the shipping headquarters was a pub where all the sailors and merchants spent their time, drinking and thanking the gods for another safe journey across the unpredictable sea. It was a hub of noise in the otherwise quiet settlement which filled Arthur with hope. Surely one of these men would be able to give him what he wanted?

Not even bothering to go and buy a drink for the bar before accosting each captain individually, like he would normally have done, Arthur strode purposefully over to a long oak table and swiped a few empty beer glasses to one side. Then, he thrust himself on top of it before shouting at the gathering.

"My good gentlemen; my name is Arthur Pendragon and I'm willing to give any amount of money to a seaman that will take me and my comrades across the Channel tonight."

He was met with silence as he felt every single pair of eyes on him. Trying to look at each of them separately he was met by an array of faces: some young and boyish, skin still soft and undamaged, looking for adventure; others ancient looking and craggy, skin littered with pockmarks and weathered by years on the sea. You could tell the old seadogs just by the dark tan that covered their lined faces. These were the kind of men that you wanted to look after you at sea.

"How much?" one fellow asked, loudly, in stunted English, observing Arthur with a watery grey eye – his other was lost beneath a bandage that was yellowed and stained.

"As much as you want," the prince declared.

"I'll take yer for twenty!" another man shouted. This one was obviously native to Britain for he had no accent.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, scrutinising his appearance. He was hairy with a bushy black beard, tinged with silver speckles, and monstrous eyebrows. In fact, there even seemed to be hair protruding from his ears. His eyes were black, like beetles, and his cheeks oddly bulbous on his face, ruddy red from the amount of alcohol he probably consumed.

"Nobody else will. They all have jobs in the morning. I'm free because I had a cancellation. Besides, they don't really trust strange Englishmen," he stated, neutrally, "My name's Harold Kellian but you can call me 'Kelly'."

Glancing around the inn, Arthur realised that Kelly was right and sighed. Although he looked a bit dodgy, this guy would have to do, especially as he was willing and ready. Stepping forward, he clapped the man's work-beaten hand in a hefty shake and nodded at him. Kelly smiled at him and stood up from his bench, knocking into the table with his knees as he did so. Arthur was taken aback by how big he was. He was like a giant – at least a head taller than the prince – and had arms like tree trunks, corded with bulging blue veins, like the ropes he undoubtedly had to pull day in day out. Surprised that Kelly's handshake hadn't broken his fingers, Arthur stepped back and then turned swiftly, heading towards the door.

"We need to go _now_," he said, his tone brokering no argument and no delaying.

"I'll be right with you. How many of you are there? Four?"

"Yes and five horses."

"Five?" Kelly repeated, as they all filed out of the shipping headquarters, into the chilly night air. "You lose one of you or what?"

"Something like that," Arthur replied, absent-mindedly. He caught Llamrei's head collar and untied her quickly, just as Tristram did the same beside him. "We're kind of in a hurry. Can you get the boat ready? Which one is it?"

His gaze travelled the harbour again as he wondered which vessel belonged to Kelly. The big man strode passed him, almost knocking his bulk into Arthur as he moved. The prince was sure that had he been in the way then he would have been sent flying. As it was, Kelly covered the ground between the inn and the dock in about five steps so the others had to jog to keep up.

"There she is," he declared, proudly, "My pride and joy."

Kelly gestured to a rickety looking ship with folded red sails and a wonky mast. It looked watertight but Arthur didn't really want to think about how it would weather a storm if they encountered one. He could've sworn that he saw a rat gnawing on one of the mainsails. Hopefully, it had just been a trick of the light.

He supposed that he shouldn't really complain. Getting transport across the Channel at this time of night was something close to a miracle. He should be thankful that _anyone _had been willing to take a bunch of strangers instantly. Then again, Kelly didn't _really _look like a normal kind of guy, if he was being honest. That was judging by the look of adoration he held for the boat and the sweet nothings he was whispering to it. What he had heard in the past was correct; captains really did fall for their boats, just like they'd fall for a woman.

"Come on then, I thought yer were in a hurry?" Kelly bellowed, clambering on board and then hustling the rest over the gunnels and onto the ship. There was no gangplank, just a rather wide jump between the dock and the wooden deck of the boat. Fortunately, the horses didn't seem to be too worried about passing it – they would have been in trouble otherwise.

As Arthur helped each of the animals and then his men over, he couldn't help observe how dejected Brecon looked without his true master present. He had obviously developed quite an attachment to the gawky serving boy. Then again, most animals did like Merlin and now the prince had a reason for it: they must sense the raw magic that he possessed and view him as part of nature rather than a threat. What a gift that must be.

"It's all right, boy," he whispered, patting the horse's flank, "You'll see him back in Camelot. I promise."

Brecon offered him a miserable look and then turned his whiskered face in the direction of the other horses, seeking comfort from Llamrei. The silver mare nuzzled him gently, her soft, flowing fringe flopping onto his nose. Slowly, they intertwined their necks, like the swans that Arthur sometimes saw on the lake, and blew gently into each other's coats. If he didn't know better then he would say that perhaps the horses were falling in love.

Distracting himself from the rather personal scene, Arthur patted Segwarides on the back and offered him a pleased smile. They had finally made it and they would most certainly arrive in Camelot by noon the next day. He truly hoped that was before Vortigern arrived because then he would have time to prepare and think up some strategies. Never before had he led an army. A full army was completely different to his small band of loyal, well-trained knights. They were merely a mass of bodies, battling in the middle of chaos, hoping to get a sword in somewhere before they were slaughtered themselves. Arthur knew he always glorified fighting and warfare, believing it to be the epitome of life as a knight but he knew otherwise. He knew there was bloodshed and loss and tears. It scared him to think of young Tristram in the heat of battle, flinging his blade at random opponents, trying to dodge arrows and swords and spears. He was still so innocent – Arthur didn't want him to face such a horrific thing yet.

Hell, he didn't want _Merlin _to experience such a thing but, of all the things to be certain about, he was certain that the manservant would be joining him in battle, whether Arthur wanted him to or not. Merlin would not leave his side and, to be honest, the prince wouldn't leave his. Besides, from what he'd seen, Merlin was the only one who had a hope of defeating the onslaught of sorcerers they would undoubtedly have to face. To be fighting magic at such close quarters worried Arthur – they were only mortal knights after all and could not do much to men and women who could conjure fire from air and make themselves impenetrable to weapons.

As they cast off from shore, Arthur was left alone with his thoughts for a very long night.

* * *

Merlin had to say that he didn't feel quite as safe as he had on the back of Pegasus. Perhaps, it was because of the massive back his legs had to stretch over that made him feel like he was about to slip off at any moment. Or perhaps it was the dangerous veering that the dragon seemed to do on occasion when he lost concentration. Or perhaps it was the general lack of comfort in the flight, as he was shaken around by each beat of Alizarin's wings and the uncomfortable spikes that trailed down the dragon's spine. Fortunately, they were far enough apart that he could sit between them but he still lived in fear of impaling himself if they stopped too abruptly. In his head was a vivid image of himself on a skewer. It was not the most relaxing thing that his mind could have conjured up.

As it was, he clung on for dear life and tried to distract himself with the stunning view that he was experiencing. From his enormous height he could see the majority of France sprawled out below him like a life sized map. He could make out the blue twisting branches of the many rivers that cut through the land and the patchwork of farmer's crop fields that alternated in colours like the child's quilt that Arthur had in his wardrobe but denied having any knowledge of whatsoever. Gliding across one of the green pastures was a dense mass of browns and blacks that he guessed was a herd of wild horses cantering. In the not so far distance, he could make out the score of the shoreline where green met blue as the sea lapped at the cliffs. Soon they would be passing the Channel and then they would be home. Well, _he _would be home but Alizarin would be in a world entirely unknown to him and none too friendly.

"I never knew the world was so beautiful," Alizarin's mahogany tone floated up to him on the breeze.

"Neither did I," Merlin replied, his breath catching in his throat, "And I've been living in it for twenty years."

The dragon graced his comment with a light chuckled that rumbled beneath Merlin's thighs like a mini-earthquake. The manservant tried not to react but it was quite disconcerting to be wobbled in such a way. Unconsciously, he tightened the grip that he held on one of the upright spines, feeling the smoothness beneath his fingertips.

"I think," Alizarin began, slowly, "That if everyone viewed the world from this perspective then they would change."

"In what way?"

"For the better," the dragon clarified.

"Hmm…." Merlin murmured and then he said, sagely, "I think that there are just some people who don't appreciate life in any shape or form, no matter how beautiful it is."

"It should be everyone who is good in the world's job to make them see sense," Alizarin replied, "Or die trying."

There was silence. Merlin's cerulean eyes scanned the dimming skies and he felt the wind ruffle his hair like an affectionate uncle.

"You mean Uther, don't you, you mean that _he _should see the beauty in magic?" the boy finally stated, softly.

"Someone should show him."

"I…." Merlin paused, frowning, "I honestly don't think that Uther views the world in that way. He doesn't see the beauty in anything. Not _truly_. Everything is a means to an end. That's how he and Arthur really differ."

Alizarin was quiet for a moment and then he spoke, "You think a lot of Arthur, don't you?"

"Don't you?" Merlin answered, earnestly.

"I see a great king and an even better friend but I'm not sure that he views himself in the same way that _we _view him."

"Well he should," the manservant declared, emphatically.

A flock of seagulls passed overhead, cawing loudly, as they made their way to the cliffs to roost for the night. Their white breasts flashed in the diminishing sunlight, like the stars that would no doubt soon grace the velvety blue sky. Hooked, yellow beaks – their defining feature – opened and closed rhythmically as they communicated with one another. Who knew what seagulls talked about? What Merlin did know, however, was that seagulls indicated they were close to the coast. Looking down, he saw that they were indeed passing over a small fishing village on a pebbled beach. A great expanse of glittering water stretched out before them.

"Yes," Alizarin nodded, once, "He should." He paused, watching the sea curl below them, white horses riding the waves. "We will be in Britain before midnight."

Merlin was too far gone, lost in his thoughts, to reply.

* * *

Early morning was always cold. It didn't matter if it was the dead of winter or in the heat of summer, it was always cold. Especially so in the draughty corridors of Camelot Castle where if you opened a door somewhere then the freezing outside air was bound to come swirling into the rest of the building, seeping through cracks in the wall and through uneven floorboards. It wasn't uncommon to see one's breath misting the air; that was the extent of the chill.

What didn't help was if you were tired and underdressed and trying to sort out piles and piles of clothes to equip a five hundred strong army with. Gwen had sifted through mountains of tunics and trousers and heavy black boots. Her arms ached from the constant movement and, since she had been at it since four this morning, her eyelids kept drooping as she counted out the sets. The sun hadn't even risen in the sky and the poky, little room in which she was working was dimly lit by a single candle that flickered erratically in the corner.

"Four hundred and thirty five," she whispered to herself, her mind and body numb.

She knew that her job was important. She knew that properly clothing the army was essential to their success and that what she was doing _could _potentially save lives but it didn't stop her from being completely and utterly fed up. All though her personality was generally sunny and kind, there was only so much a girl could take. Not only did she have to do this job but once she'd completed it she would have to go straight to the Lady Morgana and lay out her dress and sort her breakfast. Being a hard-working handmaiden was…well, a lot of hard-work.

Gwen felt like she hadn't slept properly in days. Perhaps, she should make that months because she would often be kept awake at night worrying about Arthur and Merlin. Although her sleep was tainted by the occasional bad dream, it was nothing compared to the horrifying nightmares that her mistress had been plagued by. Every night, without fail, Morgana would be twisting and turning in her sheets, her body wracked with sobs, as she tried to escape the terrible imaginings. Gwen had run in too numerous times to count in order to shake her awake and comfort her. Her friend would then bury her face in the handmaiden's shoulder and stay there until her crying had ebbed away. It was a horrific time for both of them.

"Four hundred and seventy two," Gwen said to herself, hearing her voice echo around the empty room, being muffled only by the sea of clothes around her.

When the sun rose then the rest of the castle would awake but that didn't mean it would get any noisier. These days the servants roamed the castle in complete silence in respect of the difficult and stressful times. Everyone knew about the impending invasion now but no one really like to talk about it. That is, except the king, who would spend hours in his council chambers with advisors trying to work out strategies and conjure up non-existent allies. From what they had heard from the serving spies that they sent into the forbidden room, Uther didn't seem to be having much luck and was growing paler and more anxious by the day.

If he wasn't cooped up in his chambers then the king would oversee the training of the peasants that they had gathered up from the towns and villages. They were being taught by the remainder of Arthur's knights and although they were doing their best, none of their efforts or expertise could measure up to that of the prince himself. His absence was sorely felt. It was like Camelot had lost a limb – its fighting arm. Without that arm, the kingdom was lost. Without Prince Arthur, they were doomed.

"Four hundred and ninety eight," Gwen almost cried. She was so close. She could literally feel the last garments at her fingertips. "Four hundred and ninety nine….five hundred."

She would have punched the air if she hadn't felt self-conscious by the sudden knock on the door. Jumping slightly, in surprise, the girl frowned and clambered slowly to her feet. Cautiously, she walked between her stacks of clothes and pulled open the wooden door. Standing there, in front of her, was Gaius. His expression was a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

"Gwen," he started, "Prince Arthur and his party have been sighted, just east of Moorgate."

"They have?" Gwen couldn't contain her joy and hugged the old physician there and then. "That's brilliant! Thank the gods they are safe."

Suddenly, she was aware of the fact that Gaius hadn't commented on what she was said and she released him, looking at him, uncertainly. She recognised the look on his face; there was something he was keeping from her, perhaps something that he didn't believe she could handle. Well, she could and she wanted to know.

"What is it, Gaius?" she pressed, "Tell me what's wrong."

"The witness who spotted them told the king that he only saw four men."

"Only four?!" Gwen repeated and she couldn't help her voice rising in pitch.

Gaius looked at her gravely. "I'm afraid so."

"But Arthur is definitely among them?" she asked, worriedly.

"Yes, that's a definite," the old man replied. "He was the only person that the witness could name."

Gwen's lip trembled. "But what about Merlin?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Gaius conceded, "But the odds aren't good."

Gwen observed the sadness on the physician's lined face and felt her heart go out to him. In the past year, Merlin had become like a son to him. In fact, if one wasn't to know that they weren't related then they would probably make that assumption. Sometimes, Gwen herself even found herself jealous of their closeness and camaraderie. Losing her father had affected her greatly. Losing him had caused her to lose her naivety and her nervousness too. It had emboldened her to make things right in this twisted world.

Gently, she placed a comforting hand on Gaius's mottled, veined one and offered him a tentative smile.

"I'm sure he's fine, Gaius," she said with more belief than she felt, "Merlin's always getting into scraps but then he always gets himself out of them. Or Arthur does. Arthur would never let anything happen to him."

"I just hope you're right," the physician said, softly.

* * *

It was pre-sunrise and the village was completely dead. There wasn't a single light on anywhere – no candle burning and no fire crackling in a sooty hearth. Shadows still reigned the land, casting ghoulish shapes on the thatched roofs of the stone houses and filling every crack and every nook with their darkness. Therefore no one was awake to hear the crash as a rather large, rather obvious red dragon landed awkwardly in the nearby forest, crushing several pines in the process.

"Those trees never saw you coming," Merlin stated, dryly, as he hopped down and observed the destruction.

"I never saw _them _coming," Alizarin retorted, "In case you hadn't noticed, it _is _still dark."

"I thought dragons could see at night," the warlock retorted and then picked his way through the splintered debris, heading towards the vague outline of a village. "This must be it: Molherd."

"Perhaps, dragons that aren't complete useless at everything can," Alizarin shouted after him, "I bet they're the same ones that can fly properly and breathe a proper fireball and do everything else that I can't do. They can probably _live _generally better than I can too."

"Stop with the self-pity, Ali," Merlin exclaimed, throwing a hand over his shoulder, "You got us here didn't you? Therefore you _can _fly."

"Not very well."

"Yeah, well I can't w-_alk_-eep…" the boy yelped as he caught his foot on a root and nearly keeled over, "very well. We all have our problems." He sighed. "Whereas mine will probably never improve, I'm sure yours will. Maybe you can talk to Kilgharrah about it when we get to Camelot. He might have some tips."

Alizarin's golden eyes lit up when he heard this, glowing like a pair of suns. He hadn't even considered asking the Great Dragon for help but it did make sense now. Perhaps, in the past, little dragons were taught to fly by their parents and as he didn't have any parents left alive, that was why he struggled so much. He really did hope that was the case and it wasn't because he was a terrible dragon.

As silently as a he could, the towering dragon followed his tiny companion, trying not to crush too many trees on his way. Unfortunately, that was kind of difficult when you were the size of about three houses stacked on top of one another. After what must have been the millionth crunch, Merlin hissed at him to stay where he was. Feeling rather abashed, Alizarin sat back on his haunches and waited, entertaining himself with a red squirrel that seemed absolutely stunned by his appearance. It had stopped dead on its branch.

Without a massive dragon on his tail, Merlin managed to sneak into the village and seek out the house he was looking for. It was the one belonging to Artemus, the hunchback, who was the man who they had met at the beginning of their search and the one who'd sent them on the quest to Rome. Considering what he'd now learnt, the manservant had a rather large bone to pick with him.

It was as he rapped on the door and received no answer, that he remembered that Artemus had said that he no longer lived there. However, the fact he was still lurking around there suggested that he resided close by. Summoning his magic, Merlin sent out a very subtle tracking charm that would hopefully lead him to the man. It worked just as it was meant to as a shimmering blue trail wavered away from him and through the gap between two houses. Feeling his heart rate increase in excitement, the boy followed.

This house was in considerably better condition than the last, with a pot of daffodils standing outside the door. Merlin wondered whether he had got the right place because Artemus didn't strike him as the kind of man to collect flowers. However, he knocked on the door and was rewarded with a groan and then the loud shuffle of feet. Creaking, eerily, the door swung open and revealed the dishevelled and strangely deformed figure of the man Merlin was searching for. In the darkness, outlined in his doorway, he looked more like a monster than a human being but as soon as he stepped into the lighter outside, Merlin knew it was Artemus.

Those protuberant eyes surveyed him for a moment, raking up and down his body.

"Well, well, well, a traveller returns. You look a lot more world-weary than I last saw you, young servant. I have to say I'm surprised to see you back alive," he paused, looking around, "And alone?"

"Er…yeah," Merlin replied, casually, "Look, can I come in for a second?"

"Of course…"

"Merlin."

"Come in, Merlin, you look like death himself. I will light the fire."

Shuffling back into his home, the old man set about getting the wood ready. His visitor followed him inside, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the horrendous smell which seemed to permeate every object. He hoped that he could get the information quickly and then get out.

Flames jumped into life somewhere to Merlin's left but he didn't care, he was more interested in the array of herbs that littered a dresser which stood in the corner. This was probably contributing to the pungent stench. Alongside these dried herbs were pickled jars of who knew what and several pots and bottles bunged with stoppers. It reminded Merlin of Gaius's chambers – especially with all the books scattered about the place. The sight of what looked like potion bottles reminded Merlin of what Artemus had said about travelling the world and finding exotic things.

"Are you a physician, Artemus?" he asked, casually, thumbing the edge of a tattered book.

"Ah ha," the old man chuckled but Merlin didn't see what was so funny. "No. My house may look like it belongs to a medicine man but I can assure you that I am nothing of the sort."

"Hmm….right."

"So, you have returned from Italy, I take it?" Artemus asked, settling himself in a chair. His bandy legs stuck out oddly in front of him as his humped back forced him to sit forward.

"Yes," Merlin replied, "I've been away for almost six months."

"That must have been difficult. You must have had to leave friends and family."

"Yes."

Scrutinising his guest with those strange eyes, Artemus queried, in an overly nonchalant way, "Did you find what you were searching for?"

"What's this?" the raven headed boy asked, catching hold of a jar labelled _Essence of Love_.

"That's a love potion, as it says on the bottle. I discovered it in Spain. Did you find the dragon egg then?" the old man seemed determined to persist with his question.

However, Merlin kept ignoring him, his deft fingers sifting through books and quills and empty jars. "This doesn't look….normal?" he said, holding up a pot in which sat, suspended in jelly, an alien looking creature.

It was small and grey with a head shaped like a potato and limbs that looked out of proportion to the rest of its body. In some ways, Merlin would say it looked a bit like a baby, curled up in a protective foetal position with its little arms and legs. There was even what seemed to be a scrap of material covering up its torso.

"That's a gnome."

Artemus was out of his chair now and he took the glass away from Merlin's prying hands. He didn't look very pleased by the boy's distraction tactics and his lack of an answer. Sternly, he observed his visitor and then crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

"I asked you a question, Merlin," the man said, carefully, "Did you find the dragon egg? Was it destroyed?"

"You know, I think _I'd _like to ask _you _a question," Merlin finally snapped, turning around from his browsing, "Like, perhaps, why did you tell us to go all the way to Italy when there was a dragon egg right here in Britain? You must have known, surely?"

Artemus scowled at him for a second. "Of course I knew. And of course I didn't want to tell you because that stupid, brat of a prince would have killed it."

"He's not a brat," Merlin cut in, dangerously.

"So I sent you to Rome. I knew of an egg that did reside there but I didn't imagine you'd ever reach it. Seems as if you didn't either." Merlin grunted in reply. "I told you a truth and shielded another. There's no harm in that."

Merlin spoke, gruffly, "But now Vortigern has the egg and it's hatched into a dragon and he's attacking Camelot. Did you want that to happen?"

"Of course," Artemus replied, throwing his arms in the air, "Because I am, after all, a _sorcerer_." His eyes glinted. "And I desperately wanted Uther killed and magic to return to the kingdom. In a moment of weakness I told you of the other egg because I felt sorry for you but this has been my plan all along. I want Vortigern to rule."

"You're a sorcerer?" Merlin stated, slowly, "I should have known, what with all your potions and spell books."

"My wife was a sorceress as well, darling Detria. But Uther _murdered _her." Artemus' expression darkened and his gaze flashed dangerously. "So I am only doing to him what he deserves. He deserves to die."

"What about everyone else?" Merlin hissed, "Do _they _deserve to die?"

"If they get in the way, then yes."

There was silence as both men stood staring at each other, one tall, young and lanky and the other short, bow-legged and vengeful. The hunchback was panting heavily, exerted by the effort and the emotion he was putting into talking. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his temples, warm and salty. Merlin stared at him in disgust.

"We're going to stop him," the young warlock finally said, voice full of determination.

"You and whose army, boy?" Artemus laughed, derisively.

At that, Merlin grabbed the fellow's arm and dragged his bodily to the door. The man flailed in his grip like a floundering fish or a struggling child, unable to do anything other than claw at his muscular arms. Kicking open the door with perhaps more force than was necessary, Merlin stormed out. He was met by the person he'd been looking for.

"This army," he stated, proudly.

Alizarin towered above Artemus and offered him a dazzling white, sharp-toothed grin.

* * *

She writhed in her bed, entangling her hands and feet in the sheets as if they were ropes bounding her tight. Sweat poured from her as she tossed and cried and screamed; raven hair plastered to her forehead. Her whole body trembled as if she was subject to extreme cold.

_There was screaming. Always the screaming. And always men. Never women. Screaming out for their mothers. _

_A rhythmic clanging sounded in the background, coupled with the grunts and pants of exertion and the terrified neighing of horses._

_There was something in the sky. Something she couldn't make out as the blazing sun was blocking her vision. No matter how hard she squinted, she could never see. _

_Flashing lights. _

_Scarlet blood. _

_Glinting armour. _

_A body, lying broken on the floor, a dark pool forming around him. Pain. So much pain. Agony – searing through her own chest as if she shared his fatal wound. _

"No!" she yelled, bolting up in bed. "No."

**Duh, duh, duuuuh.**


	33. Admittances

**Author's Note - I'm very grateful to the faithful reviewers and readers that have stuck with my so far through my story. I love you guys for it. I hope you continue reading despite my erratic updates.**

Morgana ran a shaky hand through her rich mahogany tresses, curving them round her neck and onto her shoulder, staring at herself in the mirror. She looked pale, even more than normal, with ugly purple rings beneath her sharp green eyes and deeper indents in her cheeks. She'd lost weight that much was certain. In fact, she couldn't even remember the last time she actually ate a complete meal. She tended to pick at her food like a small bird, never eating more than a mouthful or two. Gwen had noticed but she was the only one, fortunately, and she didn't comment too much. There was only the occasional concerned look when Morgana passed a plate back with most of the food still on it.

She was still dressed in her nightclothes, the delicate lace and silk sitting against her washed out skin and just emphasising the loss of colour she was experiencing. There was a time when she felt like the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. Now, she felt haggard and drained like an old hag rather than a young lady. She had just given up – too exhausted to care. If she was never going to be able to sleep then she would always look terrible and therefore there was little point in dressing up.

Slowly, she stood up and ran a soft hand over the pendant which hung round her neck. She wished more than anything to have no more bad dreams. She wished she could sleep in peace but that seemed impossible.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knock on the door and Morgana jumped slightly. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror, hoping it wasn't anyone other than Gwen or another handmaiden, and glided over, pulling the door open. Fortunately, it _was_ her maidservant but there was something different about her expression and posture to any other day that had passed these last few months. She didn't look sad; she looked positively exuberant.

"My lady," she said, breathlessly, "Prince Arthur and his party have just arrived at the edge of the city. I was going down to meet them but I thought someone should inform you." Her dark eyes sparkled. "They're back, Morgana, they're _finally _back."

Of course, Morgana shared in the excitement of her friend, her heart leapt at the prospect of seeing her annoying sort-of-brother again. Although she would never admit it to his face, she had certainly felt his absence, along with the rest of the kingdom. However, there was a niggling, uncomfortable feeling in the back of her mind that reminded her of the dreams she had been having. If Arthur was back then this was just the beginning, it wouldn't be long before everything descended into chaos.

Taking a deep, measured breath, Morgana offered Gwen a dazzling smile. "That's fantastic."

"Oh," Gwen gushed, "It is, isn't it?" With that, she grabbed her mistress' hand and pulled her into the corridor.

"But Gwen," Morgana protested, resisting the movement, "I'm not even dressed."

Her servant froze, staring at her for a moment. It was obvious to Morgana that she was torn between meeting the party and serving her mistress properly. Just as she was about to tell Gwen that she would manage on her own, the young girl came to a decision.

"Of course, my lady, we must get you ready," her voice didn't even waver.

Morgana smiled at her. "I'll be quick," she promised.

* * *

It was as if the whole castle had poured out into the cobbled courtyard: handmaidens, menservants, messenger boys and heralds alike. Dressed in rich, fine clothes, the advisors to the king had also marched from their confinement in the council chambers in order to witness the arrival. There were several scruffy looking stable lads that had escaped from their errands and were waiting with anticipation to see their prince return.

Gwen and Morgana were some of the last to arrive, but still before the king himself who looked both stressed and hopeful at the same time. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and a thick, black leather jerkin with a silver chain round his neck. Although his crown was not actually on his head, he looked every inch the monarch that he was meant to be. Poker-backed, he stood, with his hands clasped behind him, on the stone steps, watching the gates of his courtyard with cold grey eyes.

Several yells of joy signalled the prince's arrival, as the familiar clattering of hooves filled the square and five horses trotted into the castle grounds. Each one looked unbelievably weary but eternally grateful to be home once more. Their jaws were shadowed with stubble and their hair unkempt and dirty. Tatty garments hung off their bodies, showing a significant loss in weight since they were last here. Arthur's face was particularly hardened, his blue eyes shining like sapphires through the filth on his skin. As soon as he arrived, his gaze sought out his father and he nodded once at him. Uther nodded back and then turned, vanishing into the castle. Gwen was surprised that he didn't give his son more of a greeting; perhaps a masculine hug or at least a handshake, but obviously he had a lot on his mind. It would seem Arthur could understand that. That nod had been a signal of his gratefulness at Arthur's safe return.

Gwen's eyes searched each face individually after Arthur's, feeling sympathy at their exhausted expressions. She recognised all of them: Tristram, Erec, Segwarides but no Merlin. She felt a lump form in her throat, he must be there somewhere. Perhaps, he was just being a bit slower and would arrive in a minute, laden with all of Arthur's cumbersome belongings. Terrified hope welled in her stomach which began to feel like nausea when he still didn't appear. Merlin could be gone, could he?

Before she could run towards the party, she was beaten to it by a small girl who broke through the ranks of the spectators and charged over the cobbles.

"Daddy!" she called, her young voice full of happiness. "Daddy!"

Sir Erec jumped down from his horse in a second and sprinted towards her, gathering her up in his arms and holding her close. Such a display of affection was rare to see in a knight and Gwen was truly touched. Erec clutched his daughter like his life depended on it, inhaling her sweet scent and feeling her solid warmth in his strong arms. The little girl dampened his shoulder with her tears. She just kept whispering 'Daddy' into his chest.

"My little Olwyn," the tall man whispered back.

A moment later, a pretty woman joined them, wrapping her embrace around the both of them. She must be his wife. Her name was Enide. Gwen had always admired her beauty and her kindness. In fact, she had always believed Erec to be one of the nicer knights. They made a perfect couple.

It was if a barrier had been broken and everyone surged forwards, enveloping the knights in chatter and praise and love. Arthur was hugged by more people than he could ever remember being hugged by. Eventually, he had to push them gently away with the excuse that he needed to sort the horses and then clean up. Although they didn't seem to mind his stench and grimy attire, he did and he wanted to be ready for when Uther would undoubtedly call for him.

Sending Llamrei and Brecon off with a bright-eyed stable boy, he made the child promise that they would be given the best hay and the best grain for all their hard work. He made him promise to rub them down and make sure they were healthy as well. After all that had happened, he didn't think he could stand if they came down with an illness or became lame because of a dodgy shoe. The other knights did the same and then they headed into the castle, eager to wash and change into clean clothes.

Arthur still felt like he was crusted in a thin layer of salt crystals from the spray on the boat. If he licked his lips, he could taste the saltiness there. It made him feel sticky and uncomfortable. A nice bath was what he needed. Unfortunately, he didn't have Merlin here to make one for him so he had to enlist the help of another boy and sent him ahead to heat up the water.

As he climbed the stone steps, he caught sight of Gwen who was hovering nearby, looking like she wanted to talk to him but not sure how to approach. He felt too weary for much of a conversation but he smiled at her.

"Nice to see you again, Gwen," he said, with as much cheeriness as he could muster, "I told you I'd come back in one piece."

However, she looked at him for a moment and then burst into tears, running off down the corridor. Astonished, the prince wondered what on earth he could have done to upset her. Playing the words back through his head, he really couldn't fathom why. Perhaps, he'd somehow offended her with his joke?

Sighing, not really willing to go after her now, Arthur continued to trudge up the stairs to his chambers. Gladly, he pushed open the heavy oak doors and allowed a small smile to grace his cracked lips as he was met by familiar surroundings. His four poster bed stood in the middle of the room and he wanted nothing more to throw himself on it and go to sleep for eternity but he needed to bathe and then see his father. They had an impending invasion and there was no way he could just take a nap.

Dragging a filthy hand through his matted hair, Arthur noticed that his newly acquired servant was busily filling the metal bath with steaming water. The prince felt his whole body being pulled towards it, as if being attracted by some invisible force. He just wanted to be clean again. Properly clean, with the use of hot water.

"Thank you," he said, gesturing for the boy to move out of the way.

"Don't you want me to stay and scrub you down, my lord?" the servant squeaked.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at his high voice and his unfamiliar eagerness. Usually, he had to order Merlin twice to do anything. "No, thank you, that will be all."

"I will sort out your clothes then, sire."

"I _said _that will be all," Arthur reiterated, firmly. He really needed some time alone and he didn't want the boy rummaging around in the background.

"Oh." The boy looked startled by his sharp tone. "I'll just go then. Call if you…"  
"Need anything. I will."

Just before the child left, he turned back to Arthur. "I wanted to say…." He paused, awkwardly. "We're all very pleased to see you, my lord."

"Likewise," Arthur grunted, honestly, before pulling off his grubby shirt.

The servant left and the prince could sink into his bath in peace.

* * *

Merlin was enjoying the flight this time as Alizarin was improving by the second and he didn't have to live in fear of being cast off into oblivion. Trees and villages and rivers zoomed past below them until they came upon the sprawling city of Camelot. The warlock was stunned by the reaction of his heart to the sight of his home: it swelled with happiness and relief, so much so that he almost felt overwhelmed. He hadn't realised he'd missed it quite so much.

"Drop me off on the outskirts, Alizarin," Merlin said, "Then you can head to the cavern. Do you remember where I said it was?"

"Merlin, I don't have that bad a memory," the dragon replied, "Besides, I'm sure that if I get lost, Uther will be only too happy to show me the way down there." He grinned, toothily.

"That's not funny and you know it," Merlin scolded. "Arthur's trying to fight your corner with the king so hopefully that won't be the truth."

Alizarin looked at him, disbelievingly, with those golden eyes. "Merlin, honestly, what is the likelihood of King Uther accepting me? I want to be optimistic but even I know that he won't be happy to accept a fifty foot dragon into his kingdom without putting a few holes in me first."

Merlin didn't reply. He merely looked solemn.

"I'm sorry," Alizarin apologised, trying to make light of the situation, "I'm sure it will be fine. Let me just check the directions again. It's the next giant hole on the left, isn't it?"

The manservant couldn't help but let a smile twinge his lips. "Yeah, something like that. I hope you have fun sorting things out with Kilgharrah."

"I will."

* * *

Soft linen cascaded down the prince's chest and he closed his eyes in pleasure. It was a long time since he'd had the chance to wear such fine, clean clothes that didn't leave his skin itchy and rough. That was the problem with travelling clothes, they were meant to be durable and therefore not much thought had gone into how comfortable they were. Trying on one of his favourite red shirts again was bliss. However, it was tainted slightly by the muscle wastage that he saw in his arms and the definition of his ribs on his chest. Without training and with not much protein in his diet, Arthur had lost weight and that bothered him a lot. He needed to be at the peak of his physical fitness to go to war but he certainly wasn't anywhere near that and there wasn't any time to fix his problem. Such a thought just added to the rest of the worries and anxieties piling up in his head like dirty laundry.

Having already pulled on his thick, cotton trousers and the black boots that he'd left behind because they were unnecessary weight, Arthur felt much more like his old self. Especially as he shrugged on his beaten brown jacket and straightened it in front of the mirror. For a second he didn't recognise his tanned, thinner self now that all the grime had gone. Eventually, though, he raked strong fingers through his damp locks and turned away.

Just then, there was a knock. Arthur headed over to open the door.

"King Uther orders your immediate attendance in the Great Hall, sire," the messenger informed him.

"I'll come right now," Arthur replied, closing the oak door behind him and following the fleet-footed youth down the empty corridor.

They arrived at the entrance of the Great Hall a few minutes later and the messenger bowed him in. Arthur strode through the arched doorway and into the large room, drinking in the familiarity of it all again. He recalled the conversation he had shared with his father at the beginning of this quest, as he looked at the tall stone columns and the expertly woven tapestries. That seemed decades ago.

However, he realised now that he was not alone. Three other men stood in the long hall along with the king. They stood in a nervous line, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Uther sat regally in his throne, surveying them with an unreadable expression on his lined face. His gaze shifted from the knights to Arthur as he entered.

"Father?" Arthur left the word hanging in the air like a question.

"Arthur," Uther replied, "I'm glad you could join us."

"Father, what's going on?" the prince asked, suspiciously, "I would have thought that I could fill you in on our journey without the assistance of my men. They are tired and probably want to return to their families." He looked, meaningfully at Erec. "And their beds. You can go now." He directed the last part at the knights who all looked nervously at him.

"I'm afraid, Arthur, that that won't be possible."

"Why not?" the blond man frowned.

"Because, _Arthur_," Uther replied, his voice fierce, "I have been informed that a member of your group is, in fact, a _sorcerer_."

All the colour drained from Arthur's face and he felt terrible nausea rising in the pit of his stomach.

"Don't be ridiculous," he finally managed to choke.

"I know it may come as an awful surprise," Uther said, sternly but with a hint of sympathy in his voice, "But one of _these _men is a traitor to the crown."

Arthur floundered, trying to grasp at words out of the air. "H-how do you know that it is one of these men? I have lost three of my knights on my travels. It could have been any of them."

"A sorcerer would not have allowed himself to be killed," the king stated, unmoved. "It _must _be one of these survivors."

"No," Arthur said, emphatically.

"Arthur, I am not talking to you anymore. If you will not support me in my interrogation then I will have to force you to leave. I will be fair in my judgments and if it does turn out that you are correct then I will execute no one. I promise."

There was nothing to incriminate his friends, Arthur knew that. He allowed a feeling of relief to wash over him. Uther did sound sincere in his promise to his son and therefore the prince was inclined to believe him – he wasn't a dishonest man after all, just a rash one. Arthur just thanked the gods that Merlin wasn't with them.

A dark expression passed across Uther's face, suddenly. "Wait, you said that you had lost three men on your journey but eight of you went. What happened to the last one?" His tone was coloured with suspicion.

"Er…I meant four," Arthur corrected himself, quickly, "I got confused."

Although Uther didn't look convinced, he turned to stare at the knights, scrutinising them. His granite eyes seemed to bore right into the soul of each of them and they all felt the sweat popping on their foreheads. Arthur found himself watching Erec with worried eyes, wondering whether now would be the time that he gave up Merlin.

"Are you loyal to my son?"

"Of course," they replied, in unison.

"Would you do anything to harm him?"

"No."

"Have any of you got anything you wish to tell me? You will be rewarded for any information you supply."

Silence.

"Have you seen sorcery performed whilst on the journey?"

Although it was slightly delayed, there was a united. "No."

"Do you value the lives of your family?"

Arthur saw Erec's eyes widened and he felt his heart jump into his throat. Please, he begged mentally, please don't tell him. The oldest knight threw him an unreadable look and the prince stiffened, uneasily.

"Do you?"

"Of course!" they replied.

"Then you should tell me what I want to know! Who is the sorcerer?"

Just at that moment, the large oak doors burst open, banging loudly on the stone walls and sending the sound echoing around the room. Arthur whipped around and saw the only person that he realised wished he hadn't. Tall and lanky, Merlin hurried into the room, pushing the doors closed behind him.

Oh gods, _no_.

Aware that everyone was staring at him, the manservant smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.

"Sorry, everyone. Sorry, my lord," he bowed respectfully at Uther, "I got…caught up with something and I heard that you'd ordered everyone from the quest to Italy here. I came as quickly as I could. I hope I didn't miss anything?"

The king's cold gaze flicked from Merlin to Arthur and back again. Arthur felt himself cringe inside, shrivelling in distress. Why, Merlin? He wanted to yell. Why did the stupid, ignorant, idiotic, foolish, senseless buffoon have to turn up _now_? _Why? _It just wasn't fair. They could have got away with this and Merlin would have been safe. Now, he had possibly just sentenced himself to death.

Still unaware of the impact he had had on the room, the manservant strolled casually over to stand between Arthur and Segwarides. He looked up at King Uther, expectantly, with those unnaturally bright blue eyes.

"You didn't miss anything, Merlin," Uther stated, slowly. "In fact, you arrived just in time. I have been asking the knights a few questions and although you are a servant I'm sure you can answer them just as well."

"Er…all right," Merlin said, cautiously.

"Are you a sorcerer?"

Merlin blinked and opened his mouth, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He moved his lips a few times as if trying to form words. Arthur noticed his elbows shaking by his sides and realised that he was about to give the whole game away.

"I'm the sorcerer!"

The voice came from nowhere and Arthur jumped; his neck snapping round. Segwarides had stepped forward, his expression full of determination. Unable to even think of something to say to rectify the situation, the prince merely gawped. Uther was staring at the tall, blond knight like a cat who'd got the cream. He had known that if he picked on the weakest of them then all the nasty truths would come crawling out of the woodwork. A merciless smile curled his lips.

"Well, Segwarides, I didn't expect-"

"No, I'm the sorcerer," Tristram leapt forward, his voice almost breaking on the words.

"Tristram!" Arthur breathed, incredulously.

"_Two _of you?" Uther exclaimed, "I didn't see that coming."

"Uther," Erec's rich, quiet tone began, "_I'm _the sorcerer."

Uther didn't know where to look. His gaze flicked between all of the men in front of him and he leapt to his feet as if that would help him understand things better. His eyes glared at each man in turn and, to their credit, none of them cowered under his icy look.

Throughout these announcements, Merlin had grown more and more agitated. At first he had been incapacitated by his shock at the initial accusation but then his expression had grown more and more alarmed by the second. Arthur knew he needed to get him out of here before he gave himself away. Diving towards the young manservant, the prince grabbed him round one shoulder and began driving him backwards, making him stumble in surprise.

"Gerroff!"

"Father, I'm going to take Merlin out of here so he doesn't have to witness all this," Arthur shouted over his shoulder.

"You can't!" Merlin began to yell, "Its not-" He was cut off by Arthur shoving a large hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur hissed, "Keep your mouth shut and you might bloody survive this."

Merlin's eyes were wide above the prince's tanned fingers, blue and distressed. He scrambled at Arthur's broad back with useless hands, trying to get himself free but his master would not relent. There was no way that he was going to let his friend die. It would be easier to disprove his knights' declarations than Merlin's. They were noblemen after all, their word carried more weight. He could just say they were under a spell. He should have told his father right at the beginning that Peregrine or Lamorak had been the sorcerer and that he'd killed them. Why the hell had he not lied?! Now everything was spiralling out of control.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his hand and he jumped backward, startled. Scarlet blood was trickling down between his fingers. Merlin had bit him. He was too astounded to do anything, he merely froze.

"They're all lying!" the raven haired warlock bellowed. "I'm the sorcerer! I'm the one that can do magic. Don't listen to them! I can prove it."

With that, Merlin lifted his hand and sent a flock of butterflies flapping, erratically, into the air.

"See!"

Arthur hung his head in defeat. His heart felt like a lead weight in his chest. Merlin had really gone and done it now.


	34. Lack of Faith

**Author's Note - Okay, so this chapter was hard to write, for obvious reasons. I wanted to get more description in but its mostly dialogue. Sorry.**

"Guards!"

Uther's cold, hard voice echoed across the room and everyone flinched. Immediately, the doors burst open and two men charged in, swords at the ready. They were glancing, frantically, around the hall, looking for any obvious threats. All they could see was a few knights and Prince Arthur's gangly manservant.

"Seize this man!" the king ordered, his tone brokering no argument.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin was a disbelieving expression on his face. The younger man didn't even look at him; he merely stared doggedly at the king, his eyes never leaving the monarch's outraged features. There was a mixture of disappointment and anger in his light blue orbs. Segwarides and Tristram were looking panicked, unsure of what they were meant to do and whether they should intercept the oncoming guards. Almost imperceptibly, Merlin shook his head at them, his gaze not wavering from Uther.

"Father, _wait_!" the prince stepped forward, holding up a hand.

Uther shot him a quelling look. "I want to hear _no _more from you, Arthur. You have let me down. I will speak with you later once this sorcerer is dealt with."

"But-"

The king ignored him and looked satisfied as the guards grabbed hold of Merlin. The warlock didn't even put up a fight, merely allowed the big men to roughly catch him under the armpits and haul him backwards. Arthur was reminded of the time that this happened before but somehow he knew that this was worse than that and would probably not end happily. His gut was curling, uneasily, inside him. There was _nothing _he could do.

"When you have imprisoned him," Uther declared, "Come back for these men as well." He gestured to the knights.

"Hang on…_what_?!" Arthur exclaimed, his eyebrows knotting in shock and anger. "You can't be serious, Father?"

"It is obvious they are supporting him in some way and therefore they will be charged with aiding and abetting a sorcerer. They will be executed alongside him."

"Father, _no_!" Arthur shouted but he was at a loss as to what to do.

"My lord," Merlin called, firmly, from where he was being bodily removed, "I can promise you that these men are under a spell I have cast. They have nothing to do with me or my magic. I will release them now."

With a golden flash of his eyes, Merlin literally knocked the three men off their feet and sent them skidding across the wooden floor. All of them looked completely stunned by what the manservant had just done and stared at him with varying degrees of hurt. However, Arthur knew better, he knew it was for their own good and that Merlin had probably saved each of their lives. He stared, fiercely, at each of them and bade them to keep their mouths shut. They seemed to get the message though Segwarides didn't look at all pleased about it.

"They're back to normal now," the manservant stated, dully. "They _shouldn't _be willing to sacrifice themselves for me anymore."

Uther looked a little suspicious but he seemed to take Merlin's word for it after that display and nodded his head. It made more sense that the knight's had been under a spell than supporting a sorcerer.

"Take him away, now!" The king waved, blithely, at the guards who dragged the warlock out of the Great Hall to the dungeons. Carefully, Uther watched for his son's reactions but he was giving nothing away; his jaw was merely set in a firm line and his stance stiff. That could mean _anything _though. "You may leave also," he said to the knights, "But, Arthur, I wish for you to remain."

"Yes, Father," Arthur sighed and hung his head.

How could everything have gone so terribly wrong?

* * *

The tunnel was dark and narrow. Having only just mastered the art of flying recently, Alizarin was terrified of crashing into the curved wall and hurting himself. He tried to go slowly but it was rather difficult considering he was heading downwards and had very little space to manoeuvre his wings. It was more falling than flying in his opinion. Eventually, though, the steep passage widened out into a massive cavern and Alizarin blinked in the dimness, trying to orientate himself. Around him was a maze of stalagmites and stalactites, filling the space like the jaws of a monster. Enormous stone columns obscured his view of the majority of the cave but from what he remembered Merlin saying, Kilgharrah resided towards the bottom so he continued down.

There were several tight squeezes and occasionally he would feel his leathery wings brush along the roughness of the jutting pieces of rock but he managed to slip into the bowels of the cave. It was there that he got his first sight of the Great Dragon.

Kilgharrah sat on his usual perch, staring up into the dingy cavernous space, with his elongated neck curved like a bow. His huge, luminous, yellow eyes shone in the darkness as he observed the approach of his young visitor. His ancient ears twisted towards the steady thrum of Alizarin's wings and he felt a small smile grow on his lips. Here was proof that his race would live on, if only for a little longer.

"Alizarin," he greeted, softly, as the young dragon alighted on a rocky ledge nearby.

The youngster bowed his head in respect. "Kilgharrah."

"You have returned to fulfil the prophecy." Alizarin wasn't sure whether that was a statement or a question so he just nodded his head. "You are very brave."

"Hardly," the red dragon scoffed.

"No?" Kilgharrah stared at him with those intense eyes. "You question my judgement?"

"Not question, ancient one," Alizarin dropped his gaze, embarrassed, "I merely don't think that I am very brave."

"Bravery is rarely seen in the eyes of oneself. It takes another to see the courageousness of another, even when they don't realise it themselves. You shall fulfil this prophecy, I have seen it."

"In your visions?"

"Yes."

"But, Kilgharrah…" Alizarin paused, turning his head slightly, "I have only just learnt how to fly and I can't do it very well. How am I meant to fulfil a prophecy?"

"You will improve, every young dragon does. It takes time."

Suddenly, Alizarin looked eager. "Am I at a disadvantage because my parents aren't here to teach me?"

"No."

"Oh." The dragon's shoulders slumped.

"But you're slow start means nothing," Kilgharrah said, earnestly. "After all, not many young dragons would be able to navigate their way down into this cavern on the first attempt. That's impressive in itself." Alizarin blushed.

Kilgharrah flexed his wings and Alizarin winced when he heard the dragon creak like an old oak tree. It was hard to see in the dimness of a cavern but Kilgharrah looked ancient, as ancient as his title, and his body emanated weariness. There was a greyness to his scales that Alizarin wouldn't develop for another thousand years at least. The Great Dragon was truly _very _old.

"Do you know why you didn't realise that the other dragon existed yet?"

"Yes, I have been thinking it over."

"And the reason is?"

"Well, my hearing is getting rather bad," Kilgharrah smiled, amusedly, seeing Alizarin's uncomprehending face. "No, it is merely because he was under the care of a powerful sorcerer by the name of Evernst. Evernst is the Arch-Sorcerer of Vortigern. He is terribly powerful and well practised in the Old Religion. He knew I would realise Zalmon's presence immediately and try to reach him."

"_Zalmon_? Is that the other dragon?"

"Yes, so Evernst shielded him from me and brought him up so that he was loyal to him. He's taken all the ancient memories that Zalmon would have shared with us as an infant and destroyed them. Zalmon is now completely faithful to him. All ties have been severed."

"That's horrible," Alizarin breathed, "Its all those memories, stored in my head and reminding me there was once a dragon race, that are keeping me sane."

"And Zalmon has lost them and therefore all the grounding and morals he once had are gone."

"Why do I have to defeat him?"

"Because it is your name written in the prophecy. You are the red dragon who will lead Prince Arthur to victory against Vortigern and the white dragon and secure his place as future king of all of Albion. On your shoulders rests the fate of this land and all the magic within it."

"That's a lot of pressure," Alizarin admitted, weakly.

He was surprised when Kilgharrah let out a wheezy laugh, tossing his head from side to side. After a moment, he stopped and stared up into the cavern with a pensive expression on his face. Eventually, he turned back to the young dragon with a sad look in his golden eyes.

"Everyone is under pressure," the Great Dragon stated, sagely, "And perhaps some are under more pressure than others but we all wish to succeed. I know you will succeed, Alizarin."

"Will you help me?" Alizarin asked, his voice small.

"You don't need my help."

"I do!" the youngster exclaimed, "You're old-"

Kilgharrah interrupted with a laugh. "You can say that again."

"I mean you're wiser and cleverer and generally better. In fact, why aren't you fighting this fight rather than me? I'm sure you would be more of a help; I'd just be a hindrance."

The wizened dragon looked at him, carefully, his burning orbs searching Alizarin's own young, bright ones. "You can see me, can't you, Alizarin?" he finally said.

Alizarin frowned. "Of course, it's a bit dark in here but I can see you."

"Then you will see that my scales are uncared for, littered with holes and patches of rot; you can hear the crack of my bones, underused and brittle; you can hear my wheeze and if you were to touch me then I would be cold."

"_Cold_?" Alizarin exclaimed.

"Alizarin, I am dying."

"_No_." The scarlet dragon couldn't help but hiss steam at the thought, several flames escaped his lips.

"I've felt it coming for a long time now but lately it's got worse. I fought it off so I could meet you, in person, and talk to you but now….well, now I can die in the knowledge that the dragons' dynasty will be well protected."

"You _can't_!"

Alizarin's heart thundered in his ears and his chest swelled with anger and sadness. This couldn't be true. He'd only just found Kilgharrah. He was his only family left and he was about to lose him before he could discuss so many things. The young dragon wanted to know what it was like to live before the purge; he wanted to know who his parents might have been; he just wanted company. And Kilgharrah was about to take that away from him.

In a way, he felt used. The Great Dragon had brought him here to tell him all about furthering the life span of the dragons and then he was going to die. Surely, he could have forewarned Alizarin?

"How can you leave me?" he said, bitterly.

Kilgharrah's eyes were dull now, like the dying embers of a fire.

"I've lived my life not doing anything other than rot down here at the hand of Uther Pendragon. It's your turn to do something about it and not end up like I did; a shell of what a dragon should be. You still have _fire _in you, Alizarin. Keep it burning."

And, just like that, he died.

* * *

Merlin felt his toes catch on uneven flagstones and his elbow knocked repeatedly against the breastplate of the armoured guard but he found that he didn't care. He had done what needed to be done. There was no way he could have allowed the knights to sacrifice their lives for him. He really wasn't worth it. He knew that Arthur would be angry at him – probably livid actually – but he wasn't about to let himself be shovelled off in a corner and kept quiet. In fact, he was fed up of people protecting him.

He was aware that he probably could have dealt with it better. Maybe, if he'd thought quickly enough, he could have explained to Uther why he wouldn't kill him or Arthur or any of their people for that matter. He could have outlined the advantages of having a sorcerer as an ally. As it was, though, his brain hadn't worked. That tended to be a problem these days. He spoke before he thought. Hopefully that would clear up at some point. Well, he probably wouldn't have enough time to find out if it did.

Strangely, the dying part of being found a sorcerer didn't scare him. What did scare him was the scorn with which people who had liked him might look at him now. In their eyes, he would have been a liar and a criminal. He didn't like the idea of leaving this world being hated. Nor did he like the idea of leaving his mother behind without saying goodbye. He hoped that Arthur would look after her in his absence. Really, he didn't like the idea of leaving anyone behind. He would never see them again and that was a truly upsetting thought.

They rounded a corner; the steps to the dungeons were just a few paces down on the left. Frankly, Merlin was surprised he was being allowed to stay alive long enough to _get _to the dungeons. In his head, he had imagined Uther running him through with a cold, steel sword right there, in the middle of the Great Hall. Somehow, that vision hadn't occurred and he was being allowed to live a little longer.

He guessed that did give him a slim chance of escape. Often, when he was imprisoned by Uther or Arthur, respectively, for one miscarriage of justice or another, he didn't release himself because he knew that would give him away. But there was nothing to give away now, was there? All his dirty laundry was out in the open for everyone to take a good look at.

Suddenly, a figure turned into the corridor and Merlin recognised him immediately. It was the bent form of Gaius, his uncle and father figure. A small smile graced his lips as he caught sight of the old man. He hadn't seen him in so long.

Once he had caught sight of Merlin being escorted bodily down the passage by the guards, Gaius froze and stared at the trio with frightened eyes, clutching the test tube rack against his chest with white knuckles. His eyes met with his nephew's for a moment, blue on blue.

"They know, Gaius," Merlin said, simply.

There was a massive smash as the old physician dropped his rack on the floor and the glass tubes exploded into needle sharp splinters. Gaius' jaw sagged on his wrinkled face and the eyebrow, that was perpetually raised, quivered with shock. Merlin guessed it probably wasn't the best way to tell his friend but he really wasn't in much of a position to think of another.

One of the guards whacked Merlin over the back of his head for his words and then shoved him down the staircase. The manservant didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to the stunned physician.

* * *

Arthur bit his lip as he faced his father and he couldn't help but feel like the little boy he'd once been – being told off for keeping frogs in a jar beneath his bed or wandering away from his nursemaid to explore the nearest dangerous thing he could get his mischievous hands on. He wanted to puff out his chest and look at Uther face on but his body would just not cooperate. He was still that scared little boy when it came to his father and he hated himself for it.

"Well, Arthur, I think you have some explaining to do, don't you?" Uther stated, calmly, as he took his seat on his throne once more.

"Father, I didn't know that Merlin was a sorcerer," he said and felt terrible for both lying to his father and disowning his friend in such away, "Honestly. He was just my servant and I never suspected he could be capable of such…evil." He cringed inwardly.

Uther contemplated him. "I believe you, Arthur."

"However," Arthur lurched on before he could stop himself, "I do believe that now we have Merlin that he could be an asset to our army."  
Uther frowned. He obviously didn't look pleased at where his son was going. "In what way?"

"Well, Vortigern has sorcerers on his side, very powerful ones in fact and surely it would be beneficial to us to us Merlin as a weapon?"

"Arthur, we will not descend to Vortigern's unacceptably low standards," Uther shouted, "Just because he resorts to using such methods does not mean we should to. It would go against everything we stand for."

"Is that not a ridiculous lack of foresight?"

"No, Arthur." Uther was slowly purpling and Arthur knew he would get no further. He sighed. "I don't want to talk about your treacherous manservant anymore. I want to discuss the reason why Vortigern has the dragon that I sent you to destroy? How could you have allowed it to fall in enemy hands?"

Arthur protested immediately. "But that's not the egg. We didn't know about that egg!"

Uther paused, tapping his gloved fingers on the arm of his throne. "_That _egg?"

Almost swearing out loud, Arthur tried not to react to his obvious slip up. His fists clenched, fingernails digging into his soft palms and leaving little crescents behind, red against the pink flesh. However, he did nothing else to show that he was upset by Uther's astute observation. Instead, he blinked slowly.

"What I meant," he began, "Was that we were following another lead. A false lead. And we found nothing. I'm sorry to have let you down, Father." He said the last part through gritted teeth, trying not to let the disappointment in Uther's eyes overwhelm him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Arthur replied without hesitation. Considering the mood the king was in, he wasn't about to give Alizarin away. It could only end unhappily. For now, he would keep the dragon secret.

"Well, that is unfortunate," Uther stroked his chin, "You had better go see to your army if you wish to stand any chance of defeating Vortigern then."

"Yes, sire." Arthur bowed and turned away, trying to school his expression.

"And Arthur," Uther called from behind his back.

"Yes?" the prince replied but didn't turn round.

"Don't let me down again."

Striding down the hall, hearing the echo of his footsteps on the hollow wood, Arthur felt his heart twinge uncomfortably. His head was in such turmoil and he couldn't help but feel ashamed. That was what his father always did to him. Perhaps it was a gift of all fathers to make their sons feel unworthy. Arthur wished he could escape such childish emotions but it seemed like an impossible task.

Yanking, perhaps unnecessarily hard, on the round handle of the door, Arthur stepped through and closed it behind him with a definite thud. He decided that, even if his father was to call him back now, he wouldn't go. He needed some time on his own to clear his head and plan exactly what he was going to do about the huge, stinking mess that Merlin had created.

The guards still hadn't returned to their post and Arthur assumed that they were still delivering Merlin to his underground prison. He hoped that the boy would be all right and that the guards wouldn't take too many liberties with his health – they could be quite aggressive from what he had seen. Sometimes, criminals would go in with no injuries and would come out with a cut on their face or an unexplained set of bruises on their arms. Usually, Arthur ignored such treatment because the prisoners _were _criminals and bad men but this was Merlin and he hadn't done anything wrong except open his stupidly big mouth.

Planning on popping into the kitchens to grab a roll for lunch, Arthur was too distracted to hear the slight shuffle of boots or the rustle of a jacket. If he had then perhaps he would have been prepared for the ambush which came upon him from either side of the passageway.

He let out a cry of shock and immediately lifted his arms into a defensive stance but he felt himself being knocked against the hard wall. His shoulder blades cracked painfully against the stone and he grunted, trying to fight back. There was a heavy weight pressing on him.

A heavy weight that turned out to be Segwarides.

"Seg! What the hell are you doing?" Arthur shouted and found the strength to thrust the taller man off. His eyes blazed with confused anger.

"_Why _did you just stand there?!" Segwarides yelled at him, spittle flying from his lips as his artery pulsed in his neck.

"_What_?!"

"Why did you stand there and let that happen? How could you?"

Behind the ferocious looking knight stood Tristram and Erec with equally stony expressions. Arthur couldn't help feel a little stunned by their united presence.

"I-I…" he stumbled for a moment and then collected himself, "What did you expect?"

"Well," Segwarides retorted, "_More_."

"I could hardly tell my father that I fully supported sorcery could I? He would have thrown me in prison too!" Arthur bit off.

"You're his son, the Prince of Camelot, you could have done something."

"Uther doesn't listen to me and you know it, especially when it comes to sorcery! How could I do anything to help Merlin if I got myself trapped in the dungeons?"

Segwarides paused, staring at him and breathing hard. "You mean you are going to help him?"

"Of course!" Arthur exclaimed, offended that they doubted him, "You think I'd leave him?!"

"Well…" Seg looked embarrassed now, "I didn't know. You looked so detached."

"I'd _never _leave Merlin to die," the prince replied, emphatically.

Then he turned on his heel and walked away, still feeling furious that his knights didn't believe he would protect his friend.

As he marched, he passed several servants who glanced at him with curious expressions. It seemed they hadn't got over his abrupt return and wanted to check if he was actually real as they passed. There was even one girl who let out a shriek of surprise as she rounded the corner and saw him, dropping her pile of blankets. Arthur offered to help pick them up but she ran away – probably too embarrassed.

He managed to get a snack from the kitchens without too much trouble and then wandered outside into the training grounds to observe the knights and the peasants working hard in the midday sun. Spring was sliding towards summer – they were in the transitional period – and the sun was making more appearances than the rain now. It was quite a happy change but in a very unhappy time.

Crossing his arms over his chest in his usual position, Arthur leant on a spare archery target and watched a young, scrawny villager try and parry a blow from a larger man. He buckled beneath the pressure and dropped to the floor, blade at his neck. Arthur was reminded of all the times he'd beaten Merlin on the practice feel. The boy even looked like the manservant with abnormally long limbs and big ears. It wasn't only him that was bad at swordplay. All the others looked like the peasants from Ealdor, cack-handed and ungainly. They would never be ready in time and this time they weren't just talking about nasty bandits, this was a whole army.

He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"My lord," the voice came from his right and he turned his head.

"Gaius," he smiled in greeting, "It's good to see you."

"I can say the same too, sire," Gaius replied, nodding, "Your father said you had a wound on your hand caused by…by the sorcerer."

"His name is Merlin, Gaius, I know that," Arthur said, carefully, capturing the old physician's eyes in his.

"Yes," Gaius replied, quietly, "Merlin." His voice trembled with the word and Arthur felt immediately sorry for him. The quirky manservant was like a son to him; more of son than Arthur was to Uther.

Suddenly, as if shaking himself out of a stupor, Gaius reached for the prince's hand and Arthur let him take it. It seemed kinder to let him distract himself. Strangely, in all the chaos, Arthur had completely forgotten about the wound Merlin had inflicted on him. Now he was reminded of it, however, a stinging sensation spread throughout his hand. With cool, bony fingers, Gaius prodded at the bite mark.

"You'll need a salve and a bandage." As he said this, the physician pulled the items from his medicine basket and began to apply them. Arthur didn't even wince. "All done."

"Good."

They stood in awkward silence.

"Arthur," Gaius began, then shook his head, quickly, correcting himself, "I mean, sire…I want to ask you….you and Merlin were once close. You were good friends. Merlin is….a good man and he doesn't deserve to die. Surely you know that? He cared for you so much…"

"Gaius," Arthur put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I know. I care for him just as much. I _promise _you, I will save him."

* * *

Arthur didn't think his day could get much worse but when the news that Vortigern and his party would arrive in the morning and that Merlin's execution would be this evening, it probably became the worst of his life. He had to come up with an intelligent and workable plan; fast. That's why he was striding down the corridor at an extremely fast pace and almost charged into Gwen who was standing in the middle of the stone walkway, crying.

Immediately concerned, the prince hurried towards her.

"Guinevere? What's wrong?"

She looked up at him, her tan cheeks stained with shimmering tears and her brown eyes reddened and puffy. On the floor was a broken vase and he guessed that that was probably what she was upset about. It seemed rather trivial to him but what did he know? Women were strange creatures.

"Gwen, it's only a vase, we can get a new one."

Suddenly, her expression morphed into one of outrage and Arthur found himself wanting to take a step back. ""How could you? You _promised_."

"Promised to what?" Arthur frowned, blankly. This seemed to tip the serving girl over the edge.

"You complete and utter _prat_," she cried and slapped him, hard, round the face.

With his cheek still smarting, the prince gaped at her. "What was that for?!"

"You said you wouldn't let anything happen to him and now he'd dead!"

"Who?" Arthur was completely lost now.

"Merlin!"

Arthur frowned. "He's not dead." He paused. "Then again, he could be on the way there."

Gwen's breath hitched in her throat and she stared at him, confused. "What?"

"He's not dead, Gwen."

"But…he didn't come back with you."

"Merlin is currently in the dungeons awaiting execution for sorcery," Arthur stated, calmly, "And I can promise you that's not _my _fault."

"Sorcery? Surely not, but it's…. it's Merlin. He can't be….a sorcerer?" Gwen seemed to deflate before his eyes. She was completely stunned.

Arthur waited, not sure what to say that could help the situation; knowing him, he would only make it worse. Gwen seemed to be staring intently at the rough bricks on the wall of the passageway, her hands twisting in front of her. He wasn't sure what was going on in her head but she seemed to be thinking very hard.

"You have to save him, Arthur!" she ordered, abruptly.

Arthur scowled. "Why does _everyone_ assume I won't?"

"You're on his side?"

"Of course, he's my best friend Guinevere and, frankly, I'm hurt by everyone's lack of faith in me. I'm on way now to break him out so perhaps you should make yourself scarce so you aren't a suspect."

"It's too dangerous," the girl said, worriedly.

"First you tell me to save him and then you tell me it's too dangerous. Why are women so contradictory?!" Arthur lamented.

_Thwack_.

Gwen slapped him across the face again, her face darkening with annoyance.

"You deserved that," she said and then left.

Rubbing his reddened cheek, the prince sighed and then headed down the staircase into the depths of the castle dungeons. It grew dimmer as he descended, the path only lit by torches, and he nodded at several of the guards as he passed. None of them stopped him. He was a prince after all.

His footsteps echoed in the darkened space and he heard his feet scuff on the stray straw that was cast around to cover up the muck and grime. He flinched when he saw a large rat scamper along one of the walls, its bald tail twirling behind it. Several of the cells had people in but they weren't who he was looking for. In fact, he guessed that Merlin's cell was the one with two armed guards standing beside it.

"You may leave me to talk to the prisoner," Arthur ordered, marching over, "It is in the interests of the kingdom."

The men nodded and walked a distance away. They took up a new post beside the foot of the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder to check they weren't listening, the prince crouched down beside the barred prison and peered inside. There was a darkened figure sitting against the far wall.

"Why _butterflies_?" Arthur said, amusedly.

"Well, they're less threatening than fire, aren't they?" Merlin's casual voice floated out from within the cell.

"Why not _birds_?"

"Butterflies signal a change, new life, a new beginning. I thought it was a good metaphor." Arthur saw Merlin shrug and he shook his head.

"You _are _a complete fool."

"Thanks," the boy smiled, weakly.

"I'll get you out of here, Merlin, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Why does _everyone _always say that?" Arthur moaned, "Its so cliché. Look, I'll come for you tonight."

Merlin chuckled. "You make it sound like we're eloping."

"Shut _up_, Merlin, do you want rescuing or not?"

"By a dashing knight upon a white charger? _Of course_."

"You're still not funny, even in life-threatening situations," Arthur deadpanned.

**Aw, poor Alizarin, he's lost his only guardian. And now he has to kill the only other dragon left in existence, won't that be fun?**


	35. Escape

**Author's Note - Hey everyone, thanks very much for the reviews! This chapter is much shorter than the last but I thought it was a good time to end it and I wanted to leave you in suspense for the next part. I thought you'd like it sooner rather than later anyway. **

**By the way, for people who asked how Uther knew about the sorcerer, refer back to chapter 19. You've probably forgotten but it explains it there. :)**

**And thank you very much to theowlsgo for her beautiful fanart on The Last Dragon Egg. See my profile page for a link to her livejournal and you can see them.**

Evening came and the sky was streaked orange as the sun set behind the mountains, lending its last rays to the peasants who were making their way back from the fields. Gentle hands coaxed grazing horses into the safety of their stables and rubbed them down so they would be ready for another day. Chickens were ushered into their coops so they wouldn't fall prey to deadly foxes in the night, settling down on beds of straw and feathers. It looked to be a clear night.

In the courtyard of Camelot Castle, a solitary axe man slide the blade of his tool along a large whetstone. The rock was already indented with the grooves and chips of hundreds of preparations and would be barely affected by just another one. Glinting in the light from the flaming torches that surrounded the square, the silver axe was an intimidating sight; much like the straight-backed, merciless figure that stood in the lee of a window watching with cold, grey eyes.

The axe man tested the edge of his weapon, checking that it was ready to do the job. He was loath to make it too sharp because he didn't see the sense in punishing someone with a clean swipe. If they had committed a crime – especially one as evil as sorcery – then surely they deserved to suffer? He understood that the life he would be ending today was that of Prince Arthur's manservant and that was a shame, he'd always liked the boy, but sometimes it was the people that you least expected that turned out to be the bad ones.

As he worked, quietly, he was aware of the people coming to gather around the podium where the chopping block was mounted. They all had equally miserable expressions on their malnourished faces as they stared at the wooden stand on which a head would soon roll. The axe man had never seen them look so subdued. Granted, not many of the citizens seemed to enjoy the executions – not as much as they used to anyway – but he didn't usually see them so depressed.

"Oi, you," he called to a young woman looked especially upset, "What's wrong? You must have seen an execution before?"

"Yeah," she whispered, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "But it wasn't Merlin, was it?"

"You mean Prince Arthur's serving lad?" the executioner frowned, dropping the head of his axe on the hollow wood with a loud _clunk_. The girl flinched.

"Yes, I can't believe that the King is accusing him of sorcery," she said, tearfully, "He's such a nice person. He'd never be capable of any evil. He used to give me his jacket when I got cold hurrying across the castle." A small smile graced her lips. "He said that if I got any bluer then I'd be a blueberry."

The axe man grunted. He had little time for sob stories. Seeing that the girl had finished, he turned back to his work, hefting the axe back onto the whetstone. Suddenly, the handmaiden let out a whimper and scurried away. He guessed that she wouldn't be there to watch the actual executions – too much for her delicate stomach. Glancing up at the sky, he saw that it was almost time. Adjusting his skin cap, he sat back on the block, indifferent to the black splatter-stains, and waited for the prisoner to be brought out.

* * *

Arthur paced in his chambers, wringing his hands uneasily behind his back. It was almost time; he could feel it in his bones. His trusted sword waited beside the foot of his bed and a sheepskin rucksack hung of a hook, ready to be grabbed when needed. Gwen had put that together for him, after they had reconciled somewhat. She had still been pretty angry at him but thankful for what he was doing.

Soon, his father would send a messenger and then everything would begin. He could see it all in his head. The plan was foolproof. Well, not foolproof, there were still a few creases that needed straightening out but he would just have to wing those parts. Frankly, he had just run out of time and needed to act before it was too late.

He could feel his gut twisting uncomfortably inside him and wished it would stop. It was the feeling he got before any tournament or battle; except the outcome of this event was much more important than any of those things. If he got this wrong then Merlin could die.

_Knock. Knock. _

Arthur started. Pulling himself together and breathing out heavily, Arthur strode over to the door and tugged it open. Standing in front of him was a young servant, who dared not look at him in the eyes but merely stammered: "T-the king wishes for you to collect the prisoner for execution."

"Right," Arthur nodded, "Tell him I'll be there."

Once the messenger had scampered away, the prince hurried back into his chambers and scooped up his sword and the bag. After he had done this, he headed for the door and peered, cautiously into the corridor; there was no one about. When he had established this, he marched quickly down the passage, trying not to look too suspicious but at the same time attract very little attention.

Upon arriving at the dungeons, Arthur pulled the keys of his belt with shaking fingers and cursed himself for his nervousness. Usually, he never got nervous – and that wasn't even a lie. Perhaps, it was because he had his best friend's life in his hands. Jangling loudly, he shoved the key in the lock and twisted, fiercely.

"No need to take it out on the lock, Arthur," Merlin said, softly, appearing from the gloom.

He looked creepy in the half-light of the flickering torches: gaunt and feral. His scar was livid on his pale cheek and made him look more intimidating than Merlin, in Arthur's opinion, should _ever _come across. However, considering he hadn't shaved in quite awhile and his hair hadn't been cut in months, the once vaguely clean looking manservant looked positively wild. It didn't help when he smiled and his sharp blue eyes glittered.

"Take _what _out on the lock, Merlin?"

"Your stress," the boy replied, calmly.

"I'm _not _stressed."

"Yeah, and I'm not a sorcerer." Slowly, the manservant reached through the bars and spread his long, white fingers over the lock. It clicked open.

Arthur scowled. "Why don't you free yourself then, if you're so skilled?"

"It wouldn't be half as much fun," Merlin shrugged, grinning.

"You do realise," the prince hissed, yanking the barred door open, "That I'm risking my _life _and my position as future king of Camelot for your sorry ass?"

"I'm very, _very_ grateful," Merlin said, perhaps a little too earnestly, patting his friend on his muscled shoulder. He could barely hide the smirk curling his lips.

"You know, you really don't sound that sincere."

Rudely, in Arthur's opinion, the manservant didn't answer him but merely loped, silently, through the darkness. He paused at the bottom of the flight of stone steps and looked up. Then he turned back to the prince and gestured something, frantically. Arthur had no idea what he was trying to say and flung his hands up, wrinkling his brow. Merlin tried again, flourishing his arms and mouthing exaggeratedly. Still, Arthur could not comprehend.

Abruptly, the boy marched back over to him and grabbed his ear, hissing, "And you said _I _was shocking at mimed instructions."

"_Merlin_!" Arthur admonished.

"All right, all right, _shh_…the two guards that you sent out are waiting at the top of the stairs. They haven't left. You'll have to pretend you're escorting me towards the chopping block. In the crowd, I'll make a break for it."  
"But Merlin, that's cutting it way too fine," Arthur replied, alarmed.

"_Cutting _being the operative word if it goes wrong," Merlin offered him a toothy, if somewhat nervous, grin.

Arthur glowered. "Not funny. There _has _to be another way. We had it all planned."

"My lord!" one of the guards yelled down, "Are you having trouble with the sorcerer?"

Arthur swore under his breath and then groaned before shouting, "No, I'll be right up." Then he turned back to Merlin. "This had better work, Merlin."

"We'll never know until we try it."

Swiftly, Arthur grabbed his friend roughly around the neck, thrusting his head forward into a position of submission. He then pretended to hold his other hand behind his back.

"Whoa, not so hard."

"It's got to be believable," Arthur retorted, firmly, but he was half grinning.

"Just don't get used to this," Merlin frowned and allowed himself to be thrust, bodily, up the stairs.

They met up with the guards who flanked them down the corridor and out towards the chopping block that would ultimately be Merlin's demise. Arthur felt his heart beat increase as he walked and he desperately looked for any chances to set his pretend captive free. He could sense how tense his manservant was just by their proximity. The boy was also searching for an escape route. Unfortunately, nothing offered itself up. They were trapped.

Pushing the great oak doors open, the guards allowed the pair into the courtyard. Surprisingly, considering the late hour, it was filled with people and they all turned to stare at the arrivals with unreadable expressions. Flaming torches flooded the dark space with light and Arthur could make out the ominous figure of the axe man standing on the podium; waiting. His father was also beside the executioner, his hands clasped behind his back and his crown shimmering on his head. He was observing his son with vigilant eyes. Obviously, he didn't trust him. They were going to have to make this more credible.

"Punch me," Arthur hissed in Merlin's ear.

"_What_?" the manservant gaped.

"Punch me. _Now_."

"I can't."

"I'm _ordering _you to punch me. Do it now you idiot-"

_Crack_.

Pain exploded in Arthur's head and he reeled backwards, almost stumbling down the stone steps into the courtyard. Dizzying stars were scattered in his vision and he tried to blink them away but to no avail. That had been quite some hit. Clearly, Merlin had put a lot of meaning into it, was the wry thought that entered Arthur's spinning mind.

Vaguely, he could hear yells and several hands grabbed wildly at him. He could feel warm, viscous liquid spilling down his chin.

"Catch that sorcerer!" the king's voice bellowed above the ruckus.

Trying to make sense of what he was seeing, Arthur watched dimly as Merlin attempted to make an escape through the crowd only to be met by a barrage of soldiers. Oh gods, the prince thought, the idiot was going to get caught. This had all been for nothing. Panic flashing in his sapphire eyes, the warlock spun on the spot and charged back into the castle.

"Bloody hell," Arthur murmured, "He's really lost it now."

"Arthur, can you hear me?" It was Gwen. It was her soft hands stemming the blood flowing from his nose. "I hope he'll be all right." He heard her say. He didn't know if it was directed to him or herself.

"Me or Merlin?" he asked, amusedly.

"Both of you," Gwen replied, honestly.

* * *

Merlin ran for his life. He knew that he could turn around and take out his pursuers with a spell but he didn't want to hurt people. He never wanted to hurt people, unless they were evil, but these men had done nothing except follow orders. They had families; he was sure. He was also sure that they wanted to kill him and he certainly wasn't going to allow them that privilege.

Blood rushed in his head and he could hear his breath echoing down the corridor as he pounded down it. He was rather glad that he had spent a lot of time in the castle running ridiculous errands for both Gaius and Arthur because if he hadn't then he wouldn't have known his way round so easily. If he turned into this passage then he could follow it round and get out of the castle out the back.

Skidding round the corner, Merlin felt his heart leap into his throat as he was met by another line of soldiers. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he wheeled around and charged back the other way, choosing another corridor. This happened several more times and, with dwindling hope, he knew that they were closing off all his escape routes. Soon there would be no way out.

Hurtling into another passage, he scrambled up a winding staircase, taking the massive blocks of stone two at a time. It was at times like these that he was thankful for his long legs. His boots thumped on each step and between his own footfalls came the thundering stampede of the soldiers'. It was a terrifyingly close sound. Closing his eyes for a second, Merlin willed himself to go faster and for his lungs to draw more oxygen in; they were screaming at him to stop.

And then he burst out onto the battlements, drawing in a great mouthful of cold, evening air. Stars shone brightly above him and the moon hung between them like a huge silver coin. He blinked a few times and then sprinted along the length of the stone wall. Slamming into the wooden door into the next wing of the castle, he was stunned when he found it locked. There was no way down and the soldiers were advancing on him from the other end of the battlements.

Running a trembling hand through his messy raven locks, Merlin eyed their deadly weapons with wary eyes.

"Come on, sorcerer-boy," one guard called, "Just come quietly. We won't hurt you."

Merlin was reminded, with a jolt, of Morholt and he felt his stomach lurch sickeningly with the memory. What that knight had done was still a fresh wound in his mind; unhealed and stinging. Frozen by the mere words of the guard, the warlock stood, motionless, waiting to be taken.

"There's no way down from here," another guard jeered.

"I could jump," Merlin replied with more bravery then he felt.

"And what would be the point in that?" the first guard asked, his sword point raised.

Merlin shrugged. "Then again, I could just blast you away with my magic."

That provoked a reaction. The manservant saw them all visibly recoil. It both pleased and upset him because he really didn't want fellow human beings to be scared of _him_. He'd never wanted that.

"Hang on," one said, "If he was going to use magic then he would have done it by now!"

"He probably can't. He's probably one of those ones that can't actually do anything and that Uther's just killing _because_."

Merlin's eyebrows shot into his hair. "If I can't do magic then surely you shouldn't be trying to kill me?! What's my crime then?"

"Uther's orders." They shrugged.

By now, they were just a few short feet away from him and their swords were precariously close. Merlin was certain he was done for. He couldn't do magic quick enough to disable them all without killing them by throwing them off the battlements. He was truly stuck. Imagining himself either being run through with a fatal blade or being grabbed and taken down to have his head removed from his body, Merlin closed his eyes. He heard the soldiers guffaw at him.

_Hey, Merlin, fancy a ride_?

The soldiers watched with astonishment as the prisoner they thought they had cornered fell sideward over the edge of the wall. With gaping mouths, they stumbled over to the ledge and stared into the darkness. Merlin had vanished from sight.

* * *

Arthur had been mopped up by Gwen's handkerchief and was standing beside his father, trying to look angry at Merlin's plight into the castle but failing miserably. Instead, he just affected a completely blank expression. He didn't know how Merlin was going to escape his predicament but he really, really hoped he did. One thing he certainly didn't want to see was his friend skewered on a sword.

Suddenly, somebody screamed and everyone jumped. Then people began pointing into the sky. Arthur looked upwards, expecting to see a flock of bats or something, and felt his jaw drop. There was Alizarin, sweeping like an enormous silent ghost through the sky, his wings beating rhythmically. On his broad back sat Merlin, his ash haired ruffled by the wind, and his face graced with a massive grin. Even from this distance, the manservant managed to catch the prince's eye and they both shared a triumphant grin as the crowd stared on with awe.

"What are you smiling about, Arthur?!" Uther roared, "The sorcerer is escaping….on the back of a _dragon_! Explain yourself!"

"Father," Arthur turned to him, "I don't think you can really blame this on me. Merlin managed to escape of his own accord – see…" He gestured to his bloody nose as if that was evidence. "And as to where the dragon came from…I thought it was _you _that was keeping one as a pet in a cave below the castle?"

"Yes, but…." Uther spluttered, "My one is not red!"

"Its dark," Arthur shrugged, hiding a smirk, "How can you tell?"


	36. Guilt and Loss

**Author's Note - Woweee, I can't believe we're pushing on for nine hundred reviews. Its unbelievable. Thank you guys so, so much! I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.**

It was close to midnight and the moon was casting a soft shaft of light through the window of the Great Hall. One of Arthur's brown boots was caught in the white puddle; shimmering. His blond head was tipped forward and his hands were clasped behind his back as he waited for his father to return. He tried to stifle a yawn but he was exhausted and desperately just wanted to collapse on his bed. They were heading to war tomorrow so surely something as insignificant as Merlin escaping could wait until morning? After all, he was just one sorcerer and there would be hundreds more in Vortigern's army.

Unfortunately, Uther didn't see it that way and had dragged his son to the Great Hall and ordered him to wait there until he came back. That had been about an hour ago and Arthur had been pacing up and down the hall, wondering what on earth he was going to tell his irate father. Once he had decided, he had come to a standstill in front of the window and was staring out at the silent city of sprawling thatched houses. If tomorrow didn't go well then the entire kingdom could be left in tatters, a smoking, ruined shell of its former glory. He could imagine the screaming now; the children crying for their missing parents, wives for their dead husbands and lost infants. It both terrified him and spurred him on. There was no way that he could allow such devastation to befall his people.

His hands dropped onto the window ledge, feeling the cool, rough stone beneath his smooth palms. Breathing in deeply, he tried to visualise the future but such a vision failed to come to him. Everything seemed so unstable in the present that he couldn't even begin to believe there _would _be a future for Camelot.

He hoped that Merlin was all right. He guessed that the youth wouldn't face much difficulty in his escape, especially now he had Alizarin with him, but what he worried about was getting Merlin to fight in the battle alongside him. The truth was that they needed his magical skills and the strength and power of Alizarin. Without them their chances of victory were severely hindered. They had to beat Vortigern at his own game: with sorcery. Arthur was sure that the rival warlord would never expect such a defence and therefore they had the element of surprise. But how on earth could he ever persuade his father? It was impossible.

There was a hefty clunk as the doors to the Great Hall swung open and knocked against the surrounding wall. Arthur turned away from the window and the beautiful night sky to face the wrath of his father. He felt his throat constrict when he saw the anger in the king's granite eyes.

"Father," he bowed, dutifully.

"Arthur, I want to know _right _now whether you are in league with that sorcerer," Uther declared, bluntly.

Arthur blinked. "Father, I-"

"I want a straight answer. No dancing round the issue, Arthur. You _must _tell me because if you don't then I'll…"

"Then you'll what?" Arthur asked, his voice beginning to rise. To be honest, he was fed up of his father's narrow-minded attitude. He needed to see the bigger picture and then perhaps Camelot would be saved.

When Uther didn't reply, the prince persisted.

"You'll _what_, Father?"

Uther looked astounded at his son's audacity. He was shaking with a mixture of anger and shock, like a volcano waiting to erupt. His fingers trembled as he held them up and pointed at Arthur. Repeatedly, his mouth opened and closed as he fought to squeeze the words out.

"I'll….disown you," he choked. It sounded like splintered stick had been dragged over his vocal chords.

Staring at his father with betrayed blue eyes, Arthur ran a hand over the crown of his head and felt the muscle in his jaw quiver. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that was like an acidic ball of nastiness – stinging and sulphurous. At any moment it would rupture and his whole body would be awash with an overwhelming need to vomit.

"I didn't know you felt like that," the prince replied, slowly and calmly. "If I had then…well….maybe I wouldn't _want _to be your son."

"Arthur, you can't mean-" Uther looked stunned.

Arthur stared, stonily, at him. "If you would disown me for consorting with a sorcerer, then why shouldn't I?"

"It's the _law_, Arthur," Uther finally breathed, his eyes absurdly wide and frightful all of a sudden. "How _could _you think anything else?"

"Merlin's a good man, Father, but then again you couldn't understand that because you never see the good in people. You're so paranoid that one of them will betray you. Gaius used to be your friend, didn't he? And then you just _pushed _him away. You practically threw him from the kingdom at one point despite all he's done for you. I could _never _do that to Merlin."

To emphasise his point, Arthur slammed the butt of his closed fist on the wall, getting a slight satisfaction from the jolt of pain he received. He glared at the rock for a few seconds, instead of his father, and imagined punching it again but this time with Uther's face attached to it. They were treacherous thoughts but he couldn't help how he felt. The Pendragon's were known for their passionate feelings and fiery temper. Well, they used to be. Now though, after Ygraine's death, all Uther was passionate about was the eradication of magic. Arthur felt like he was the only one with real, raw emotions left.

"He's a servant _and _a sorcerer!" Uther cried, "Arthur, _why _are you doing this to me?"

"Because you need to see!" Arthur shouted, "You need to understand." He paused, collecting himself. "You need to understand that it is the person that defines magic, not the magic that defines a person. Magic is neutral. Its part of the _earth_, Father! Just like the trees and the sky."

"Don't be ridiculous, who told you that? _Merlin_?" Uther retorted, scathingly.

"No, Alizarin."

"Alizarin?"

"The dragon."

Uther's face contorted; his tone accusatory. "_You _did know about the dragon? You spoke to him?"

Arthur wasn't perturbed; his feelings were boiling over, everything he wanted to say spewing out. "Yes, like a human being. He's probably more intelligent than the majority; he's certainly more level-headed than _you_. He told me that magic is everywhere and that you can never hope and never _should _hope to get rid of it. Without it the world would probably end."

"Lies," Uther said with some vehemence.

"Have you ever wondered whether some sorcerers could be different Father? Have you every wondered whether they might not all be bad? They are _people _after all. Not everyone has to be evil." Arthur paused, heaving in a big breath. "Take Merlin for example, he was born with magic and had no chance of ever getting rid of it; should he be punished for that? He's never committed a crime. Well, unless you count crimes of clumsiness," he added as an after thought.

"Is Vortigern's army not proof enough to you that all sorcerers seek to undo us? To harm our people?"

"No," Arthur said, darkly.

Uther lurched forward as if to hit his son but then restrained himself, pulling back before he did irreversible damage. He stared at the young man that would soon be heading out to fight in what could be the last of his battles; the young man who had once been the little boy who listened to everything he said without question; the young man who had been conceived, from the magic he was now defending, at the expense of his mother's life. How had he changed so much? _When _had he changed so much?

"I've always taught you magic is wrong," he said, slowly, "I've sent you out to fight magical foes enough times for you to know the threat is real." He frowned, obviously bewildered. "I just don't _understand_, Arthur! Why now? Is it because of that idiot Merlin?"

"Perhaps." Arthur shrugged. "But perhaps, I'm just finally seeing the world without you to guard me from it. I can make my own judgements without having you to blinker them with your archaic grudges and petty disagreements. What would my mother have said? She's the reason this stupidity all started, isn't she? Would she agree with you killing thousands of innocents - thousands of _children_ - just because they come with the fatal label: magic?" His tone was bitter and accusing.

Staring, shocked, at his son, Uther took a couple of steps back and touched against the cold stone of a column, unable to support the weight of his own body anymore. Heavily leaning on the structure, he continued to gaze at his heir as if he'd never seen him before. Arthur glared back, his cobalt blue eyes gleaming. The king was reminded so much of Ygraine in that moment - seeing every inch of her beautiful face in Arthur's - that he dropped gradually to the floor and placed his head in his shaking hands, imagining her fury at what he'd become as well as his son's.

"Arthur," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"And so you should be."

Without looking up at his son, Uther heard the footfalls of the young prince leaving and the heavy thud of the doors closing. He was alone with his inner turmoil.

* * *

Merlin couldn't help but feel strange. After all, he had just fled Camelot as an accused sorcerer on the back of a massive crimson dragon. That didn't happen often – even in his chaotic, abnormal life. There was an odd mixture of relief and worry and pleasure balled up in his stomach. His secret was finally out, for everyone to see, and there was no hiding now. The shadows were no longer where he could linger.

Really, he had _no _idea what would happen next. He doubted whether Uther had been pleased to see him leave and whether he would ever want him to return. It was an unlikely prospect. However, he was anxious for the fate of Arthur and those others close to him. Would they be in trouble? He had thumped his master pretty hard so hopefully that aided his appearance of innocence. That had been a priceless moment and one that would stay with Merlin until the day he died. If he ever had grandchildren then he'd love to tell them the story of how he punched the future king of Camelot on the nose.

His view was that Arthur could probably look after himself. He was Prince of Camelot after all and capable of standing up to his father even though he himself didn't believe it. In Merlin's opinion, Arthur was the strongest and bravest man in the land and therefore he would be able to deal with the king. Whether he could persuade Uther to allow Merlin to live was another question entirely. They hadn't planned it like this at all; when they had discussed it Arthur had decided that it was better for all their safeties that the king wasn't told. So how did he know that a sorcerer was among the party?

Merlin couldn't even think of a single person who would have known and told the king. After all, he was meant to keep the magic secret and hadn't exactly told a million people. There was his mother and Gaius and Lancelot and the Great Dragon. They were his only suspects and he knew none of them would ever do that to him. It didn't make sense.

Then again, he supposed, whoever it was had done him a favour, in a round about way, because now King Uther knew he didn't have to hide anymore. He could swoop into the battle without any misgivings about being discovered because he'd _already _been discovered. This was a freedom he'd never experienced before. Now he could reach his true potential without fear of repercussions. And the fact that Arthur had still supported him even when his father found out really gave the manservant a boost. Admittedly, he had nursed a small fear that the prince would turn round and desert him at the last moment. But he hadn't.

That meant more to Merlin than he could ever express.

"Thinking hard, Merlin?" Alizarin's soft, rich voice pulled him from his thoughts and he turned his head to glance up at the dragon.

"Yeah."

"About what?" the dragon asked, curiously.

"Just….life."

"That's a broad topic," Alizarin said, dryly.

Merlin smiled. "Yeah and pretty damn complicated as it turns out."

"Yours more than most."

"You can say that again." The manservant sighed and leant back against his friend's massive leg.

What was odd was that he didn't even feel uncomfortable leaning on the hide of a dragon. He never really had been fearful of Ali, even when he grew this big, and didn't have any qualms about touching him. In fact, he'd quite happily sleep here as the dragon was a constant source of warmth and the feeling of protection. It couldn't just be any dragon, though; he would never have felt so comfortable with Kilgharrah. He wouldn't have even gone within a few feet of him if he could help it. However, with Alizarin it was different; they had a bond. Almost as strong as the one he had with Arthur.

"Merlin, I can't hope to understand what's going through your head-"

"Oh, I'm sure you could," the warlock interrupted with a chuckle. He shifted against the dragon, lifting up his fingers and counting off a list. "Wondering whether people will accept you; wondering whether tomorrow will be your last day on this earth; wondering whether Arthur will be able to persuade Uther that we're really good guys. You're practically in the same position as me."

Ali smiled, warmly. "I guess you're right. But, Merlin, I'm _sure _everything will be fine."

"Hmm…" Merlin replied but didn't sound convinced.

The fell into a companionable silence and stared up at the navy sky. The place they'd chosen to stay the night was a rocky valley which was uninhabited and shielded Alizarin's huge bulk from prying eyes. The bottom of the gulley was scattered with scree and sparse shrubs so they had had to dig around a bit further afield to find Merlin some food. He'd never got the pack that Arthur had prepared for him. Now, they were just waiting until morning.

Because the night was so clear, there was a certain chill to the air and they couldn't have a fire because they didn't want to draw attention to their whereabouts. Therefore, it was fortunate that Alizarin was as warm as he was because he acted like a ready-made hearth for the shivering village boy.

Merlin broke the quiet.

"Did you speak to Kilgharrah then? I never asked, sorry." He looked rueful.

For awhile, Alizarin didn't reply and the manservant wondered whether he'd fallen asleep but he saw a flash of gold of the dragon's eyes and knew he was still awake. He nudged the beast, gently, with his elbow.

"Ali?" he asked, concernedly.

"I saw him, yes," Alizarin finally answered. "We talked. He said that I had to defeat the white dragon of Vortigern so that Arthur could become king."

"Well, I could have guessed that," Merlin said, offhandedly.

"Yes," the dragon agreed and seemed like he was about to say something more but stopped short.

"Alizarin?" the warlock persisted.

The dragon blew a long, hot breath into the cold air. "Kilgharrah's dead, Merlin."

"_What_?" Merlin yelped.

"He's dead."

"You're joking," the boy spluttered but then he saw the young creature's face and the tears that welled up. He didn't even know dragons _could _cry. "Oh, gods, Ali….I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Alizarin said, quietly. "It means I'll be the only one left."

Merlin's features creased in sympathy and he ran a comforting hand along the smooth scales of the dragon. He could feel the animal trembling beneath his touch. Unfortunately, Merlin had no experience with distressed or grieving mythical beasts so he had no idea what to say.

Alizarin continued, "If I kill Zalmon, the white dragon, then it will just be me. If I kill him then _I _will be responsible for the extinction of my race. Even if I live to two thousand, like Kilgharrah, I will still die eventually and then there will be no more dragons left. How can I _do _that?"

"Even if you don't kill him then, well, to be frank, you're both male… and you, er…" Merlin looked awkward. "Well, you couldn't repopulate the dragon race between you."

"I know that," Alizarin replied, sharply. He paused and then said, more calmly, "But I would have his companionship. Without him I would have to live the rest of my life alone. That's not exactly a nice prospect."

"You have me and Arthur," Merlin suggested, hopefully, "We're not dragons but…"

"Exactly," Ali interrupted, "You're _not _dragons and neither of you could fill that void."

"Alizarin," the manservant sighed, "There's nothing I can say to make this any better because you _know _you have to kill Zalmon. It is prophesised about, like Kilgharrah said. It's your destiny."

"Would you kill Arthur?"

"What?" Merlin frowned. "That has nothing to do with this."

"Would you?" the dragon continued, "Would you kill him to save the kingdom?"

"I-I…"

"You _couldn't_," Alizarin said, quietly. "Now you know how I feel. I may not be close to Zalmon and he may want to kill _me_ but he's still precious to me."

With that statement, the young dragon clammed up and dropped his great head onto his forelegs. His golden eyes closed and no matter what Merlin did, he would not be roused. Eventually, the manservant had to go to sleep too – very unsure about what tomorrow would hold.

* * *

Dawn broke with the ringing of the warning bell. The clanging sound echoed across the city and dragged the peasants from their beds. Every single one of them knew what it meant: Vortigern had arrived. Farmers, blacksmiths, carpenters, bakers, millers; they all made their way up to the gleaming white castle. It was time for them to take up arms and protect their friends and family.

The orangey glow of the early morning sun bathed the courtyard as hundreds of men gathered their clothes and weapons. Frantic noise filled the space which usually would have been quiet at this hour in the morning. Horses neighed and stamped anxiously on the cobbles as they were saddled and clad in war garments. All of them, men and animals alike, wore the blood red colours of the Pendragon house. The smell of nervousness hung in the air.

Standing on the white stone steps of the castle, stood Prince Arthur, his golden hair shining in the dawn light. He was wearing full battle armour and the golden dragon of his family crest stood proudly on his chest, emblazoned on scarlet cloth. There was an aura surrounding him that all the peasants and knights could sense – he would win this war or die trying. His bright blue eyes surveyed his men's preparation and there was a hint of pride glinting in them. His gaze was caught by three of his closest comrades: Erec, Seg and Tristram. They were all already mounted and ready to head out to fight in the most important war of their lives. He nodded at them and they nodded back.

Suddenly, he was aware of running footsteps and he turned just in time to be caught in an almost painful hug. His first thought was that it was Gwen but when he looked down and saw the dark, shining tresses of Morgana he was stunned.

"Morgana," he breathed, "You haven't hugged me since we were....well, probably five."

"So precise," she whispered into his chest with a hint of humour.

"Well, I remember because it was the time I almost got eaten by that mountain lion that you bet me I couldn't kill with my sling shot. You'd never looked so guilty." Arthur smiled, wryly. "So can you explain to me what this is about?"

Morgana released him and took a deep breath, her striking green eyes capturing his. "I know that nothing I say could ever make you stay so I just wanted to tell you to be safe and that…well, I do care about you an awful lot, Arthur Pendragon, no matter what I usually tell you."

"Likewise." Arthur grinned.

"Try not to get killed, _please_?"

"Well, that is rather high on my list of priorities, if I'm being honest."

The young woman punched him on the arm. "I'm serious. You look after yourself." She paused. "And Merlin."

"Wait, how do you know-"

But Morgana had turned back into the castle, her blue dress swirling behind her, and vanished from sight.

* * *

**Okay, so you probably weren't expecting the bit with Uther and Arthur but I thought that its always the kids that can make their parents feel extremely guilty for what they've done. Its like a gift we seem to have. Then again, they can do the same to us. Therefore, I thought it made sense. Uther may have been a little easy to break but meh, its my story. :)**

**Please Review!**


	37. War Cries

**Author's Note - Gosh, I haven't updated in ages! I'm so sorry! Thank you all for the lovely reviews! We're at 900 reviews! Oh my god, what if we actually reach 1000? That would be insane. And awesome, of course!**

**For this battle scene, if you've scene the movie The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe, imagine the battle at the end of that. That's what I imagined it looking like. Very cinematic :)**

The flowing green plains of Camelot stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by the purple mountains rising in the distance and the dense forestland to the west. Shimmering blades of grass formed a smooth carpet on which the sun shone, high in the flawless blue sky. Where rabbits and deer would have inhabited this great open space usually, they had vanished into the safety of the trees, sensing the approaching bloodshed on the mild breeze. In their place stood a thousand soldiers.

Five hundred of Vortigern's men waited to the east, tired from their travel but still eager to fight and finish this invasion. They were a formidable sight; all dressed in uinform green with a white twisting snake emblazoned across their breasts. Circular shields glinted in the sunshine and lethal swords were gripped tightly in gloved hands. There were some among the army who did not have weapons; it was easy to tell who they were. They had no need for trivial objects such as swords and daggers because they had magic pulsing at their fingertips – all itching to unleash its potency on the enemy. Votigern sat in the centre of them, mounted on the back of his black horse with a rich chestnut beard gracing his dignified chin. On his helmet sat a golden crown, etched into the protective metal, and singling him out as the king. Having never seen him before, the opposing army would never have been able to tell.

At the opposite end of the green pasture, Arthur sat astride Llamrei, surveying his enemy with calculating blue eyes. His army shuffled nervously behind him. The skilled knights of Camelot filled the ranks directly behind him, waiting in uniformed rows, whilst the untrained peasants of the land stood beyond them, a mishmash of young and old scattered across the hillocky ground. The trees towered at the back, protection from any attacks coming from their blind side. Vortigern could only attack from in front.

His throat was his dry and his lips stuck to one another as he waited. Never in his life had Arthur led such a massive army and, in all honesty, it terrified him. There was so much responsibility. Usually, he craved the limelight but right now….well, he would have gladly given it up. All these men had entrusted their lives to his judgement – whether they succeeded or failed today, it was down to him. If every single one of the knights and peasants died then it would be entirely his fault. _A bad leader._ He didn't want to end his dynasty like that. Therefore he _had _to win.

Beside him were Segwarides, Erec and Tristram. They were his most trusted knights and he would look to them if he was in need of advice. Glancing over at Seg, he saw the determined line of his jaw as well as the quiver of his hands and in Tristram; he saw the rigid back of the inexperienced and anxious. The youngest knight was taut with the pressure of the situation – a bow string ready to snap at any moment. Only Erec seemed impassive to the impending fight. He, after all, had taken part in battles with Arthur's father when he was still in his prime. The prince knew he was probably just hiding his fear and doubts well but he really admired him for that; he knew that was what he needed to do so that his men would follow him unquestionably.

It would help if Merlin was here though. The idiot still hadn't turned up and Arthur was getting increasingly worried. Surely he would have remembered that Vortigern was arriving this morning and come searching? A nasty little niggling feeling at the back of his mind taunted him with the idea that Merlin had deserted him; had been lying all this time. However, he _knew _it wasn't true. Merlin wasn't capable of being devious. At least he hoped he wasn't.

Closing his eyes for a few moments and then staring up into the heavens, Arthur blew out a deep breath and turned to Seg.

"He's not here yet," the prince stated, softly.

"He will be," Seg assured him, his tone full of conviction.

"What if he left?"

"_Arthur_," the other knight admonished, disbelievingly, "How can you even say that? Merlin is the most loyal man I know, especially when it concerns you. Don't you ever doubt his faithfulness, sire."

Arthur nodded his head. "You're right, of course. I'm just being negative."

"Have you seen the dragon yet?" Tristram appeared nearby him, his voice both excited and fearful at the same time, like he didn't want to know the answer. His cheeks were pink with anticipation. "Do you think he'll be bigger than Alizarin?"

"I don't think it's physically possible to be bigger than that damn dragon," Arthur replied, confidently. "And if he is then I'll….wash _Merlin's _dirty socks for a month."

"Well," Erec interjected, "I think you might be learning how to use a laundry bucket, sire, because look over there."

It was inevitable that Arthur would have to eat his words; even _he _knew that because that was just how unjust life was. Even from this distance the beast was massive – a snowy white mountain rising up behind the considerable ranks of Vortigern's army. There was a certain harshness to his frame that Alizarin did not possess. Black spikes trailed down his back, deadly, especially as they continued on to the tip of his tail, finishing with a ball of barbs that would undoubtedly gut any man that got in the way. His eyes were a scorching red, indented with black slits that narrowed even further at the sight of the enemy. Zalmon was a fearsome sight – enough to make grown men quake in their boots.

A pair of enormous, jagged wings fanned out behind him like a billowing torn sheet and it was only as his legs coiled beneath him that Arthur understood he was about to take flight. In a movement that shook the earth, the dragon rose into the air like some huge, lethal spirit and began to soar towards them.

Grabbing for his sword, Arthur realised that they would have to begin this battle sooner than he wanted. Without Alizarin, they _were _in trouble but they certainly couldn't sit back and wait for Zalmon to slaughter them all where they were. Quickly raising the silver blade into the air, the prince signalled for the archers to loose their arrows. The unified ping of the bow strings was followed by silence as the arrows made their way through the sky towards the approaching monster. Arthur's breath caught in his throat.

On impact, the points made a peculiar metallic sound but they did nothing to the armour-like hide of the dragon. Instead, he let out an enraged roar and dived towards the legions of men, fire spewing from his mouth. Several of the soldiers let out screams of pain and shock as the flames engulfed them and Arthur shuddered as he darted out of the way. They needed to move. Now.

Where the _hell _was Merlin?

Zalmon was coming back for a repeat attack and Arthur could see his army scattering before his eyes like terrified ants. Honestly, he didn't blame them considering the grass was still on fire from the first blast and thick smoke was billowing into the sky. He could feel the heat even at his distance, frazzling the hairs on his skin. He needed to get his men together and launch an attack on Vortigern before the dragon could do any more damage.

"_Men_!" he bellowed, trying not the cough, "We need to move forward and attack. This could be our only chance."

People began appearing out of the smoke, both on foot and horse back. They were ready to follow his lead. He kicked Llamrei into a gallop and threw an arm over his shoulder, gesturing for them to go after him swiftly. Soon, the noise of thundering hooves filled the smoky air and they charged towards the opposing army. Arthur's sword was extended and his eyes flashed with determination as he came upon the enemy.

The sound of swords clashing was deafening as they descended on Vortigern's men. Soon, it was all Arthur could hear; coupled with screaming and shouting and the roaring from the massive white dragon. A terrible smell reached his nostrils: it was the reek of charred meat. He knew with a heavy heart exactly what had caused it. His men were being slaughtered and there was nothing he could do about it.

Tristram's blond head bobbed a little way from him as he swiped viciously at the green-clad soldiers. His mouth was contorted in a battle cry and his baby blue eyes were hardened with resolve. Several men fell at his well-trained hand and blood spattered onto the coat of his horse and up his legs. Its cloyingly sweet smell was joining the stench of burnt skin and made Arthur feel sick.

Llamrei suddenly jerked and he was aware of a soldier attacking his left side. Turning, swiftly, in the saddle, he whipped his sword down and sliced the fellow's neck, feeling the soft give of the skin and then the hardness of bone. The man fell with a strangled roar, his body thudding on the dirt only to be trampled by a passing rider less horse. Distracted momentarily by his latest victim, Arthur almost lost his life as a deadly arrow sped past his head – it clipped his ear and he let out a grunt of pain. If he hadn't shifted at that exact moment then he would have been killed.

"Watch yourself, Arthur!" Segwarides yelled, in passing, a grin quirking his lips. A moment later he bent down and hacked at a youth with a flailing mace. "Don't want to ruin that pretty face of yours."

"Seg," Arthur grunted, "This is _hardly_," he knocked over a soldier, "the time, is it?"

"Hey, this could be the last time I ever get to joke with _you- _take that!"

_Crack_. Another enemy knight's life was ended with a killer blow to the head and he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes; eyes rolling like white marbles. The grass was now splashed with blood, like a gruesome piece of artwork, trailing dark patterns and smears across the earth. Young men writhed on the floor in agony – both dressed in red and green.

Perspiration slipped down Arthur's forehead and trickled into his eyes, salty and stinging. He tried to wipe it away, viciously, but only served in spreading it further. Blinking, furiously, he managed to turn Llamrei in the direction of a fray of opposing soldiers and barrelled them over – the horse's sharp hooves delivered several fatal kicks. One man lay on the floor, blood pooling beside him from the cavernous hole that had been smashed into his skull; splinters of bone flashed in the sunlight.

Suddenly, there was a blinding purple light that threw both him and Segwarides backwards. His friend was blown clean off his horse whilst Arthur only just retained his hold on Llamrei's reins. His arms were yanked so hard that they felt like they could have been pulled from their sockets. Searing pain worked its way through his joints and he winced, trying to work out what happened. Beneath him, Llamrei skittered and stumbled over corpses, absolutely terrified out of her mind.

Looking wildly around him, he realised where the blast had come from…

_The sorcerers. _

He couldn't count how many of them there were but plenty enough to start turning the tables in favour of Vortigern once more. It didn't help that they literally exploded the ground beneath your feet. Arthur had never seen anything so devastating in his life. The sorcerers he'd fought previously had nothing on these ruthless men.

Flashes of multi-coloured light obscured his vision and it would have been a pretty spectacle had it not been for the absolute carnage such explosions caused. Men were thrown like ragdolls through the air – their bodies taking an almost elegant trajectory before plummeting to earth. Shattered corpses littered the grassy plain.

It wasn't only demolishing blasts they cast on Arthur's army but they also could use invisible forces to strangle the helpless men. He watched several youngsters clutch desperately at their necks for a few minutes before collapsing: blue lipped and lifeless. Others conjured up ferocious beasts to annihilate his knights. There were ones he recognised: pitch black wolves; striped tigers and snapping jackals – eyes blood red and merciless. There were even griffins. But then there were those that he'd never seen before: half men half bulls with menacing horns that could gut you in a second; women with wings and talons the length of his sword; huge snakes with massive fangs and ugly looking things that he guessed were ogres.

It was like they'd conjured their monsters from the nightmares of children.

These dreadful creatures viciously tore apart Arthur's army and he watched as peasants, who had only come because they had to, were subjected to grisly murders. There didn't seem to be any way to stop the wave of fur and claws and teeth.

And not only did they have to fight through all these unfair advantages, they still had Zalmon on their backs, coating the once green fields in jumping flames and black ash. No doubt this battle would be able to been seen for miles around because of the thick smoke that billowed into the air. Therefore, Arthur didn't understand how Merlin still hadn't arrived. Things were looking desperate without him.

Llamrei let out a scream of fear as a Minotaur lunged beneath her, making her rear, and almost ripped open her vulnerable underbelly. Fortunately, Arthur yanked the screeching mare to one side and they both hit the ground with a thud. A yell of pain was torn from the prince's lungs as he felt the animal's weight crush his leg. He desperately struggled beneath her but he was pinned down, unable to move and escape the agony. The Minotaur, having realised it missed, was launching another attack.

Arthur's eyes widened as he saw the beast stampede towards them. The creature's hair was dark and matted with blood – no doubt from previous victims. It had wild, yellowed eyes that sought out the ensnared human immediately. Arthur's fingernails continued to scrabble uselessly against the heavy body of his horse but she was obviously injured somehow in the fall and could not move. Both animal and master were trapped.

All of a sudden, a spear appeared from nowhere and sliced into the Minotaur's massive shoulder. It let out a roar of pain and stumbled backwards, aggrieved. That's when a horse thundered over Arthur's head and another spear was launched at the monster. This one caught it in the chest and its legs buckled before it collapsed onto the dirt. Arthur would have breathed a sigh of relief if he hadn't been in so much agony.

"Help!" he shouted.

"Hold your horses!" Tristram's voice replied teasingly but he gasped, abruptly. "I mean…sorry…that was a bad choice of words. It won't happen again, sire."

"I don't bloody care! Just get Llamrei off me!"

"Yes, sire!"

Tristram leapt off his horse and hurried over, adding his strength to Arthur's so the two of them could slide the mare's bulk off his leg. As soon as he was free, the prince stumbled to his feet. His leg hurt like hell but, after tentatively putting weight on it, he knew it wasn't broken. Thank the gods, that was the last thing he wanted.

"Are you all right, sire?" Tristram asked, concerned.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Arthur waved him off and hobbled over to his fallen horse. Crouching down and trying not the wince, he checked her over. He sighed. "Her hip is dislocated." He swore under his breath and raked a hand through his hair.

"Do you want my horse?"

"No, I'll continue on foot."

"Are you sure?" the boy persisted.

Arthur snapped. "Damn it, _yes_, Tristram!"

"Whoa! All right!" The knight held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"No, sorry," the prince sighed again, "I didn't mean to shout. Look, thanks for saving my life."

The youth smiled. "That's fine."

"But we must get back to the fight. This war can't be won on its own."

"What about Merlin?"

"What about him?" Arthur said, gruffly, grabbing his fallen sword and giving Llamrei one last stroke of comfort. He _would _come back for her.

"Where is he?"

"How should I know?" the prince snapped, angrily, and then stalked off, wiping grime from his cheek.

Tristram watched him go and then realised there was still a battle going on. Swinging up onto his steed, he tried not to think about the manservant's absence and threw himself back into the fray.

With renewed vigour, Arthur slashed and thrust at his enemy, trying to fight his way through the masses to get to Vortigern. It was proving very, very difficult. Already, his weakened leg was giving him twinges of pain and his arms were aching from the effort of constantly swinging his blade. Attack came from all sides and he'd already been cut on the thigh and the shoulder. His ear was still smarting from the earlier wound and he could feel his skin tightening with the dried blood. Not only did he have to contend with the normal soldiers but the sorcerers were trying to blast him away. Twice, he had been knocked over with his head ringing from the noise and the shock. Bruises littered his battered form.

As he continued to wade through the enemy, the prince was aware of a sudden change in the atmosphere. Wide eyes turned up to the skies and mouths dropped open. Feeling hope well in his chest, he wondered whether his prayers had been answered. Hardly daring to look – not only because he was still being attacked – Arthur managed to throw a glance into the heavens and saw exactly what he wanted to.

Outlined against the unblemished blue backdrop were now _two _dragons. Alizarin had arrived. Arthur never would have believed he could be so happy to see a _dragon_. It filled him with optimism once more – something that had been sorely lacking considering the sorry state of the situation.

One pure white and one fiery red, they clashed above the warring soldiers. A truly astounding sight. Leathery wings flapped wildly as they tussled in the sky: twisting and turning and twirling like they were performing some kind of dance. Sometimes they would break apart and take a moment's respite before colliding once more. Balls of flame were thrown haphazardly through space but they never reached their marks because of the astonishing agility of the dragons. Arthur stood, enraptured.

Although Alizarin looked terribly small compared to Zalmon, he was giving a good fight. Considering he'd only been flying for a couple of days, he was doing _magnificently_. Arthur couldn't believe he'd ever doubted that he could be a proper dragon. It seemed ludicrous now.

Suddenly, he realised that something was missing. Alizarin's back was empty.

So where was Merlin?

Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he glanced around, panicking. He couldn't see the raven haired boy anywhere. Surely nothing could have happened to him?

_Boom_.

The explosion was so enormous that the prince was thrown to the ground in an instant. The immense heat created a scorching hot pressure on his back so he flattened himself as far as possible into the cool ground, hoping that he could sink right into it in order to escape the deafening roar and burning sensation enveloping his entire body. It was like being stuck in a dreadful limbo.

Suddenly it stopped. He had space to breathe again. His ribs hurt from the impact of hitting the hard ground but, as he sat gingerly up, he realised he hadn't sustained any lasting damage. Peeling himself off the turf, Arthur saw that half the battlefield had been wiped out by the blast. A huge, smoking crater sat in the centre of what had once been grassy meadows. At one end of it stood a straight-backed man with sharp eyes and a proud chin, his hands held out in front of him.

And there, hovering just above the devastation, like some skinny fairy, was Merlin. That blast had been intended _for him_.

**Why Merlin was so late _will _be explained! Review!**


	38. Three Hours Earlier

**Author's Note - Thank you all very much for the wonderful reviews and the love that you keep giving me for this story. I'm sorry that my updates are getting infrequent but I'm having a difficult time at the moment so please bear with me. Thanks.**

All the fighting had frozen in place, like the war tableaus that were depicted on the tapestries in Camelot Castle. Swords remained at throats, fists were caught midair and the remaining few on horseback had drawn their animals to a shuddering halt. Only the dragons remained locked in mortal combat, their tails lashing at one another and their claws raking at tough skin, unaware of what had occurred below them.

Arthur was rooted to the spot, his gaze locked onto the floating figure of his friend. The young man was still in his ordinary clothes which were tatty and filthy but Arthur registered that they now sported several new, significant tears. There was even some blood glistening on the side of Merlin's long, pale neck; smeared in a handprint. It seemed that the manservant had been engaging in his own war away from the battlefield.

Momentarily, the prince could have sworn that the warlock glanced at him but it was too quick to tell – it could have been a twitch of the head. Besides, he didn't know how on earth the boy would be able to pick him out of the sea of bodies. However, Merlin's golden eyes were focussed on the man at the edge of the crater and there was an intense hatred in his expression that Arthur had never seen before. The boy hadn't even given Morholt such a venomous look.

"Well," a loud, cold voice cut through the warm morning, "I suppose that was _vaguely _impressive. Perhaps, you are more powerful than you look." His tone was dripping with derision.

Merlin shifted angrily and his shoulders stiffened as if someone had pulled them together with a metal bar. He had the air of a determined man. There was no trace of the clumsy, awkward, adolescent Merlin Arthur had previously known. Here, in front of his eyes, was a great man with immense power in his mere fingertips. In fact, the prince could have sworn he heard his friend crackle with the magic he possessed as it tried to burst forth.

"You'll never believe just _how_ powerful," the raven haired peasant retorted, calmly.

"Well," the sorcerer, who Arthur guessed was Evernst said, smoothly, "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

With a bark of a laugh, the man spoke rapidly and launched a fireball across the gaping crater. Arthur let out a strangled yelp as Merlin only just managed to dodge out of the way. Down one side, the manservant's clothes were singed by the heat which had almost killed him.

"Oh, _well done_, well avoided," Evernst sneered, "But maybe you won't be so lucky with _the next one_!"

Another flaming ball rocketed towards Merlin and the boy had to roll in midair in order to miss this one. However, he did let out a hiss of pain as it caught his hand. He retracted the burnt appendage quickly before glaring at Evernst.

"Come on, Merlin," the prince muttered under his breath, "_do _something."

Seeming to have grown bored of throwing fireballs at his opponent, Evernst lifted himself into the air and moved casually, as if it were an every day occurrence. His whole demeanour oozed self-importance and pride. Arthur wanted to knock the smug expression off his creepy face.

"Have you run out of party tricks, little peasant?" the Arch-Sorcerer jeered, "Is that all you can do? I mean, I expected a _bit _more. Then again, you are one of Uther's and he's a great underachiever."

Arthur grunted at that.

"It's only to be expected. What a shame. There was me getting excited at the prospect of deflecting a few badly constructed curses. It would have made my day. I didn't think Uther had a _single _magical being on his side anyway and it was a lovely surprise. It's a pity you're only a simple, farming lad."

Evernst was closing in on Merlin, like a predatory hawk ready to snap up a quivering sparrow. His dark eyes were narrowed and his bony, pallid hands were outstretched in front of him. A black cloak billowed out behind him, embroidered with green and white thread: Vortigern's colours. Arthur was reminded of the depictions of Death he had seen. This couldn't be the end for Merlin, could it? Not after all this.

"Nothing to say? You were very vocal earlier," Evernst stated, cocking his head to one side.

"That's because I didn't realise who you were and what you were _capable _of," Merlin hissed, his teeth clenched.

"Well," the man shrugged, "What can I say? I'm flattered." He paused and looked around him suddenly. "Where is this prince of yours, anyway?"

Upon hearing those words, Arthur felt his whole body seize up like a petrified deer. Instantly, the Arch-Sorcerer picked him out and a nasty smile curled his snake-like lips.

"Ah, _Prince _Arthur," he said in a mockingly reverent tone, "It's nice to finally meet. I've heard _so _much about you. You're little servant is quite a talker when he gets going. I met him on my way here – he was searching for something. Wouldn't tell me what though." The sorcerer paused to frown. "No matter how much I tried to coax it out of him. Then again, I wasn't particularly interested in that. No, I was interested in his _dragon_."

* * *

_Three hours earlier…_

Merlin sat on top of a rock, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms clasped around them. His sky blue gaze was trained on the crimson dragon that slept peacefully on the valley floor. Unsurprisingly, he had a lot on his mind. Frankly, all his worries and anxieties were beginning to give him a splitting headache – he didn't know how Arthur coped with so much responsibility.

The battle would be beginning soon. He knew that. And both he and Alizarin would be needed there if they were to win. Unfortunately, if his dragon friend wasn't willing to fight then they were in a spot of trouble. He didn't know exactly when the war would commence but he guessed it to be within the next hour. Therefore, they needed to get moving.

But how on earth was he meant to persuade Alizarin that he should kill the only other dragon left in existence for a king that wanted to kill _him_? Even to Merlin that didn't make a lot of sense. After all, _Merlin _would be having doubts if it wasn't for the fact that Arthur would be king after Uther. If it was merely Uther on the throne forever more then the warlock probably would have swapped sides. Such a tyrant didn't deserve loyalty.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he sighed and then stood up to stretch. All his joints ached and he just wished that he could have some time to rest and recuperate. They'd barely been back in Camelot for a day and already he'd had his life threatened and now he was off to fight in a war. If he could wish for anything then it would be time for a good few hours more sleep before this battle. Then again, if he really thought about it, he could just wish for there to be no battle at all. That would make more sense.

Realising that he was arguing with himself, the young man decided that it would probably be a good idea to wake Alizarin up before he went crazy. That was a task in itself considering how big the creature was.

He slipped off his rock and walked over to the beast's massive head. He tapped the dragon on its scaly cheek and waited to see if that would wake him. When it didn't, he hit him harder. And again. And again.

"Alizarin!" he shouted in the dragon's ear. "Alizarin! Wake up!"

Finally, Merlin resorted to using his magic to startle the dragon out of his slumber. With a few muttered spell words, the manservant set of a controlled explosion right inside the shell of Alizarin's ear. Golden eyes snapped open and a wall of fire erupted from the dragon's snout in shock. With a movement that quaked the ground beneath Merlin's feet, Alizarin hauled himself onto his feet.

"What was that?" the dragon asked, looking dazed and confused.

"What was what?" Merlin replied, innocently.

"There was….a loud noise….like an explosion."

Merlin shrugged. "I didn't hear anything. You must have dreamt it. Anyway, now you're up, we need to get moving. We have a battle to fight in."

Alizarin stared at him with incredulous eyes. "I said I won't do it Merlin."

Taking a step back, the young man folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. He had resolved to maintain unending patience until he broke the dragon's will. It would be difficult, undoubtedly, but it needed to be done – and he was prepared to be uncompromising to get what was needed.

"You _must _do it," Merlin stated, firmly.

"I can't," Alizarin replied, emphatically. "It's like killing a brother."

"He's _not _your brother, Ali," Merlin sighed.

"You don't know that," the dragon pointed out, "For all we know he could be."

"It's unlikely."

"Possible," Alizarin said, stubbornly.

"Even if he was your brother," the warlock said, slowly, "That doesn't detract from the fact he is about to kill hundreds of people – _innocent _people."

"And some evil ones too."

"Yes," Merlin conceded, reluctantly, "And some evil ones."

"So you see my point?"

"Surely, the value of the lives of the innocent outweighs the consequences of allowing the evil to live? Think of the children," the raven headed boy threw his arms wide, "Think of the women and the helpless men trying to defend their families. Do they deserve to die?"

Alizarin shook angrily. "Did the entire dragon race _deserve _to die?" he snapped.

"Well no but…"

"Uther deserves everything that comes to him. _He _must bear the consequences of his unforgivable actions."

"Even if that means Arthur must lose his life?"

"No," the dragon barked, emphatically.

"Then where do you draw the line? _Tell me _Ali!"

The young warlock let out a disbelieving bordering on desperate howl and had to force himself not to react in a violent way. That was Arthur's character not his and he would not descend to such a level, especially not on his friend. Still, it was unbelievably frustrating. Taking several gulps of much needed calming air; Merlin held up his hands in semblance defeat and didn't look at Alizarin. Without speaking, he turned and walked away.

After several paces, he heard the shift of the beast behind him. "Where are you going?" Ali asked, clearly distressed.

"To help Arthur, of course," Merlin replied in a casual way, "_Some_ of us promised we would."

"But I...." the dragon began but then caught himself, maintaining his stubborn decision, "_Fine_. Go then."

"I will," Merlin shouted back and vanished into the woods.

He did have in mind where he was going. Of course, his final destination was the battleground that Arthur had told him to meet them at but, if Alizarin wasn't going to help him, then he would make a quick detour on the way. It would have to be _very _quick because he knew that the war would be beginning soon and there was no way that he would be late – that wouldn't be fair on Arthur, not after he'd promised. For once, he would be on time.

Shoving a prickly branch out of the way, Merlin dived through the undergrowth and began to cover the ground at a lope. Having sprinted through this forest too many times to count, he found his feet knew exactly where they were going without him having to think. He just had to be careful to duck out of sight if he saw any soldiers in case they recognised him and tried to capture him. He wasn't about to let that happen, not after all this. The ground was pleasantly dry and springy so he didn't find himself slipping or falling over once – that was a first.

Bursting through a leafy bush, Merlin skidded into space and drew in a deep breath as he caught sight of the shimmering mirror-like surface of a lake. It sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine and he had to blink rapidly because of the reflected rays. A heron stood silently and still as a statue far to his right, its long legs not even quivering as it waited on the shore, keeping an eye out for its prey. Merlin, however, didn't have time to wait around for what he wanted. He couldn't wait for it to _jump _out of the water. He needed to summon it to him.

Standing at the edge of the lake and trying not to think about the previous journey he'd made here under very different circumstances, Merlin stared out across the smooth blue water and tried to seek out the blade that he'd tossed in all those months ago. He imagined it, embedded point first, deep in the silt at the bottom of the lake. In his head, he could see the glittering rubies nestling in the golden handle and the writing that curled elegantly over the shiny metal. That had been a beautiful weapon. And he was about to get it back.

_Gladis surgi findi_

The words slipped off his tongue like warm honey and he didn't even have to think about the magic seeping out of his fingertips. It came as naturally as breathing. The tendrils of his spell sifted through the dark waters until he felt a hard nudge at the edge of his mind. A small smile tugged at his lips as the heavy weight of the sword dropped into the arms of his enchantment and he began to lift it. It took a little effort but soon the sword was breaking the surface and Merlin could actually see the blade glinting in the sun.

His smile breaking into a full blown grin, Merlin gently levitated the weapon towards him, remembering the time at the camp when he'd sent Tristram's sword flying at him and almost decapitated himself. At least he'd improved from then.

As the weapon came within reach, he grabbed it out of the air and clutched it close to him. It felt nice to have the coolness of the sword in his hand. He wasn't a knight but he knew that this blade meant a new hope for Arthur. He could defend himself against sorcerers and dragons alike. Nothing could withstand the sharpness of this sword.

"Good morning."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere and Merlin practically jumped out of his skin. He whipped around on the spot, the blade raised in his hand. Standing in front of him was a man in a simple brown travelling cloak. His hair was black but peppered with silver and his eyes an eerie green. The serving boy was reminded of the Lady Morgana.

"Er….good morning, sir," Merlin stammered.

"If you don't mind, could I introduce myself without a sword at my throat?" the stranger asked.

Quickly, Merlin dropped his weapon like a hot poker and looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to threaten you."

"Oh, dear boy, its fine," the man replied, genially, "In fact, I should be the one apologising for startling you. I seem to have given you quite a fright." Merlin flushed. "Anyway, my name is Herve and I'm currently lost. I had two friends with me but I seem to have been separated. I was wondering if you could help me."

"Of course," Merlin replied, succumbing to his helpful nature despite the fact he should be hurrying off to help Arthur, "Where are you headed?"

"Camelot."

"Well, I'm not sure you'd want to visit Camelot right now."

"Why not?"

"There's a war on."

"Gods, really? That's terrible." The stranger looked horrified. "I've come to visit the King."

Merlin frowned slightly, his brow creasing. "I don't think he'll be able to take visitors but I can still direct you there."

"Thank you, kind sir."

Swiftly, the warlock delivered concise instructions to the lost traveller in an effort to leave quicker. Of course, he couldn't just allow the poor fellow to fend for himself but he was terribly aware of time ticking away. Once he had finished he tried to say goodbye but Herve seemed reluctant to leave.

"I don't mean to pry but…." Herve paused. "Well, I wondering what on earth you were doing out here on your own?"

Merlin worried his lip. "I'm…er….running an errand for my master….searching for….something."

"Oh really?"

"Yes but I've found it, so its fine." Merlin smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He needed to _go_. He couldn't be polite for much longer.

"And who is your master?" Herve asked, curiously.

"Prince Arthur of Camelot." The boy couldn't help the pride which filled his words.

The stranger nodded as if that was understandable and then queried, "What on earth could he be looking for?"

Merlin shrugged and felt his fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles straining and white. Trying not to draw attention to his discomfort, the manservant scratched the back of his head with his free hand and looked into the distance.

"It's just this…thing….but I can't tell you what," the boy replied. "Now, I…er….must be leaving so…."

"Yes, of course, you must head back to your master," Herve agreed, "You don't want to upset him. Don't get beaten on my account."

"Oh, he doesn't beat me," Merlin gushed, not wanting this stranger to get a bad opinion of Arthur, "He's a very good master. I couldn't have hoped for a better one."

A smile crept onto Herve's face. "I'm sure. Well, I bid you goodbye."

Just at that moment a noise like the thundering of a hundred horses shook the forest and Merlin had to throw himself to one side in order to balance himself. He looked wildly around him, seeing trees falling in the distance. That could only mean one thing. Sure enough, the crimson head of Alizarin burst onto the shore, followed by the rest of his enormous body. Behind him remained a trail of complete carnage as plants and trees lay trampled and broken.

Throwing a look at Herve, Merlin saw his green eyes widen with astonishment and then flash with something else that the manservant couldn't place. Something told him that it wasn't good however and therefore he wasn't quite as surprised as he would have been when several hordes of men poured out of the woodland.

"My lord," one of the men yelled, "We found the dragon."

"I can see that," Herve replied, acerbically. He paused and then jerked his head. "Catch it then."

"What? No! You can't!" Merlin yelped, leaping to Alizarin's aid.

"Stop the boy," Herve bellowed.

Before he could react, Merlin was delivered a blinding blow to the chest from a magical leaden ball. It knocked the air from his lungs and he felt several of his ribs crack from the impact. Immediate pain exploded everywhere.

"Don't kill him," Herve's irritated voice could be heard above Alizarin's panicked roars, "Just disable him. He could be useful. He was searching for something for the prince and he obviously knows the dragon. We will question him and then kill him."

Struggling on all fours, Merlin panted through the agony and pushed himself to his feet, ready to jump back into the battle. However a slash, of what must have been magic, caught his neck and sent him reeling backwards, grabbing at the searing wound. His hand came away scarlet and shining. There was no time to think about that now though because he _had _to save Alizarin.

"Just _give up_, you simple idiot," Herve's boom startled Merlin and so he didn't have time to react to the sword butt which connected with his skull and sent him to the earth like a crumpled toy. He didn't get up again.

Turning his attention from the annoying peasant boy, the sorcerer focussed on the writhing dragon that was fighting off all his soldiers with earnest. He had to admit he was quite impressed by its strength. Even the most powerful spells could not knock the creature off its feet. However, what did affect the mighty beast was the sight of his companion falling to the floor. His golden eyes widened in fear and he bucked even more abruptly.

After kicked two of his men flying, the crimson dragon launched himself into the air and then, once he was in flight, turned his head to shower the soldiers in flames. He seemed to be careful not to send his fire ball anywhere near to the injured serving boy.

Then, with one last glance, the dragon flapped his massive leathery wings and climbed slightly higher into the sky before skimming away across the tree tops.

"Evernst!" one of the soldiers yelled, "Should we follow him?"

"Yes, go," Evernst ordered, "But two of you stay and help me with this boy."

He strode over to the prone form of the skinny servant and kicked him with the toe of his boot. The boy seemed to recoil from the hit but didn't wake. That meant he was just unconscious. Swiftly, Evernst wrapped him in rope that he conjured out of the air and then lifted him up as if he was balanced on an invisible stretcher.

"Will you two take this?" he commanded the remaining men.

As he marched ahead, he didn't notice Merlin open his eyes very slightly and send a silent spell across the shingly beach. The golden glow of his magic caught the sword which lay discarded on the ground and enveloped it. It pulsed once and then the light faded as Merlin succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

Alizarin swooped low over the trees and scanned them for the telltale signs of the soldiers. A few flashes of green and silver told him they were in hot pursuit. That was exactly what he wanted. Perhaps, if he drew them far enough away then they would forget all about Merlin.

The image of the wounded boy flashed in front of his eyes and he winced. He had failed. When the soldiers had appeared in the valley he had been wallowing in his own misery and ineptitude so he hadn't seen them until it was too late. He was almost captured there and then. After a narrow escape, he charged like a wild thing through the forest. He could have taken flight but the thought never even crossed his mind in his panic. He only wanted to find Merlin and make sure he was safe. However, that had all back-fired considering he'd led the soldiers right to the poor boy and then hadn't even been able to protect him from getting hurt. Some friend he was. This was all his fault.

Roaring just to make sure the sorcerers didn't lose him, Alizarin was suddenly aware of the direction he was headed in. From his height he could see the dense dark green forest breaking off into smooth grassland. They would come upon the battleground at any moment. Putting on a spurt of speed, Alizarin knew, with sudden vivid clarity, what he had to do.

Soon he'd passed the tree line and then soared over the gently undulating hills of the green pastures. A streak of a blue river skimmed by beneath him like a momentary splash of colour.

And then he came upon the battleground and saw the havoc that had been created there. Bodies lay strewn across the earth like thousands of cows that had been struck down by the same devastating illness. The sounds they made certainly reminded him of the pained lowing and moaning of a cow. The grass was slippery and shiny with the freshly spilt blood and, with his heightened sense of smell; he could even smell the metallic scent of it from here. A burning stench also reached his nostrils.

He tore his gaze away from the devastation and caught sight of the creature that he had been protecting but had caused so much of this devastation. There was no way he could let him continue to end so many of these lives and, therefore, he shot towards him like a cannonball.

Claws outstretched, Alizarin careened into his white counterpart and didn't hold back.

* * *

Consciousness tickled at the edges of Merlin's mind and he shifted slightly on his invisible stretcher. His eyes cracked open like slits and he stared at the man who walked beside him. He was just one of Herve's – well, Evernst's, he realised now - minions but the warlock couldn't help but feel an intense hatred towards him. It was because of men like him that followed the orders of the few evil individuals without thinking, that sorcery had received such a terrible reputation. It angered Merlin beyond belief.

And therefore, he didn't have any qualms about silently casting a spell to knock the buffoon out and then his partner as well. They fell without a sound and Merlin felt quite proud of himself and partly amused - as soon as he didn't need to hide his true identity anymore, he mastered unspoken spells.

Realising that the bindings that Evernst had wrapped around his thin frame were magical, Merlin used a counter spell with ease and dropped to the ground with a thud. Perhaps, he would have to work on forethought next. Rubbing his bruised shoulder, the manservant scrambled to his feet and set off at a run. He still felt a bit dazed from being knocked out but he didn't let that slow him down as he pounded in the direction he knew that battle lay in.

It was only as he broke through the trees and began pushing himself up a hill that he really felt the damage to his chest. His lungs couldn't seem to force enough air inside and he ended up wheezing and gasping. Doubling over when he reached the top of the mound and fighting the urge to flop over, Merlin surveyed the devastation. It was truly heartbreaking.

Despite the utter horror of the situation, the servant couldn't help feel immensely pleased when he saw Alizarin battling with Zalmon in the sky. He had made the right choice.

Catching his breath – just - he stumbled down the hillside and into the midst of the fighting, dodging flying blades and frightened horses as he sprinted. His boots slithered in pools of congealed blood and he had to ignore the sickening sensation in his stomach.

"So…you escaped!" Evernst's voice reached his ears and he skidded to a halt, spinning on the spot. "You must have magic to do that."

"I must," Merlin shouted back, proudly.

"Well, we must rectify that problem then, mustn't we?"

A split second before the sorcerer unleashed the explosive curse; Merlin saw his plan and launched himself into the air.

* * *

_Present..._

"Well," Evernst said, softly, "Now we've made our acquaintances, I think its time to see how much your little serving sorcerer really cares for you, eh? Arthur Pendragon, I will finish you!"

This time even Merlin couldn't even anticipate the spell and despite lurching forward in an effort to intercept it he couldn't hope to be quick enough. Instead, everything seemed to happen in slow motion as he watched the black swirling spell charge towards the vulnerable prince like some hound from hell.

"No!" The cry was ripped from his lips with raw emotion.

Arthur's bright blue eyes widened and he seemed frozen to the spot. Even if he threw himself to the side then he would still be destroyed. This was it: the end. He watched his death come closer and closer towards him. It was so near, a gaping black hole.

And then everything went red.

He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to erupt inside him or, perhaps, just the feeling of nothingness. Neither of those things happened. Instead, he opened his eyes just in time to see a massive dragon rolling towards him. Alizarin had borne the brunt of the curse. Ducking just in time, Arthur watched the creature skim over his head and then land with an earth shuddering thud on the ground.

"Ali!" he yelled, his voice hoarse and he charged towards him. "Ali! Gods, no!"

Scrambling over the carcass of a horse, the prince skidded to the dragon's head and pressed his palms against the creature's smooth, warm scales.

"Ali! Wake up! You have to be all right! Please?" Arthur was astounded to find himself begging.

Suddenly, there was a rumble like laughter beneath his finger tips and the dragon's golden eyes cracked open; to Arthur it was like the sun rising on a new day. If he could have thrown his arms round the beast's massive neck then he would have; as it was he settled with just pressing his body into the animal's cheek.

"You're alive," he breathed.

"A puny human spell like that was hardly going to take out a hulking great brute like me, was it? Give me some credit," Ali grinned, wolfishly.

"Thank you. Thank you!" Arthur said, earnestly.

"Honestly, it's my pleasure," the dragon replied, easily.

So caught up where the pair in their seemingly impossible survival that they missed the white shape dropping out of the cerulean sky like some huge hawk and snatching its prey from the space in which he hovered. Only Merlin's terrified and pained cry alerted them to his untimely abduction.

**Review please, it would make my day :)**


	39. The Duel

**Author's Note - Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Omg, I can't believe it but I think we're actually going to reach one thousand reviews! That's unbelievable. **

**This chapter is _very _dramatic. Well, particularly at the end so be warned. I may have gone a tad mad and quite a lot evil :)**

**Thanks to AuroraKnight for helping me with translating spells.  
**

Zalmon's massive talons ripped into Merlin's shoulders as he was lifted further and further away from the ground and safety. He struggled in earnest, both physically and then with his magic, firing every spell he had in his arsenal at the huge dragon's underbelly. Nothing had even the slightest effect but perhaps that was because he couldn't exactly think straight through the haze of pain.

As he was lifted upwards, he looked down and saw Arthur desperately running along below him - hurdling any obstacle and slicing down any opponent that got in his way. His blue eyes were shining with fear and his face was a white sheet. Only one thought came to Merlin's mind as he observed his master and friend chase after him: make sure that _he _was all right, that he would survive.

Feeling his artery pulse, uncomfortably, in his neck, the boy shouted, "Excalibur! Summon Excalibur!"

And then he was too far away to shout anything else. Instead, he could only continue to cast feeble spells at Zalmon's tough magically protected hide and wish that he was stronger. Everyone had always told him he was special: his mother, Gaius, Kilgharrah, so why couldn't he do anything now? Why was he so helpless? Feeling angry at himself and the unfairness of the world, Merlin let out a heartfelt yell of frustration and raked at the bone-like talons that held him tightly.

"We have to do something!" Arthur shouted, fiercely, stumbling back over to Alizarin.

The enormous dragon was levering himself to his feet with some effort; his legs shaking beneath his considerable weight. There was a black, dirty mark on the paler underside of his chest and it was then that the prince realised that Evernst's curse had had more of an effect on Ali than he'd realised. Concern flashing in his eyes, he darted forwards.

"Alizarin? Are you sure you're all right?"

Pulling himself to his full height, the dragon looked at him with an unreadable expression. "I'm fine, young prince, as I said before." He glanced up into the sky and flexed his wings, readying to take flight. "I will go after them. You must stay here and protect your remaining men."

"But I want to help Merlin!" Arthur retorted; his tone distressed.

"You are the leader of these men, don't you forget that, Arthur Pendragon. They need you more than he does. You can't desert them all to help _one _soldier. That's not how it works and you know it."

"He's not a soldier; he's _Merlin_," the prince replied, emphatically, spittle flying from his lips.

"You're right, he's Merlin and he's a sorcerer therefore I'm fairly certain he can look after himself. Stay here and help them. Try and work out what he meant by summon Excalibur."

With that the dragon launched himself into the sky and Arthur felt the air whoosh past him, ruffling his hair and clothes. He watched as the beast rose into the heavens and then set off in pursuit of the vanishing white dragon but not before throwing a furious and deserved fireball at Evernst on the way. The magician only just managed to leap out of its destructive path – much to Arthur's disappointment.

Picking himself up and dusting off his robes, the sorcerer grinned and said, nastily, "Let's see how many of your men I can destroy before it destroys _you_!"

And then he let loose: lightning crackled from his fingertips, frazzling men where they stood; fireballs set the grass alight and once more the smell of burnt meat filled the air; the soldiers' own swords turned on themselves, gutting them like fish. Complete and utter chaos. Merciless bloodshed. Stunned at the suddenness and the intensity at which Evernst had unleashed his magic, Arthur could only stand and stare with horror striking his heart.

Encouraged by their Arch-Sorcerer's barbaric actions, the other warlocks were pulling out all the stops and killing Arthur's men as easily as a boot crushing thousands of ants – instantly and irreversibly. Mentally, he estimated that there were only half his soldiers left, if that. With the loss of Merlin and Alizarin everything was turning to dust.

Eventually, when he got his act together and began slicing wildly at the murderous enemy, they evaded his attacks and laughed in his face. Even the non-magical members of the opposing army were revelling in the destruction of Camelot's defence and striking against him with deadly accuracy. Everything he did seemed hopeless. He had lost track of his friends: Erec, Segwarides, Tristram, all of them had vanished in the sea of death and destruction. It was like he was drowning in the complete obliteration of his army.

And then a word came to him – one only recently learnt. It was like it had been said again in his head, reminding him. In fact, he could have sworn it was Merlin's voice whispering, in soft tones, _Excalibur. _

The word seeped from his lips, "Excalibur."

A strange sensation crept over him, one that he had never experienced before. It felt like his body was being invaded by a peculiar warmth that began in his heart and then flowed to all his extremities until he was tingling all over. The only thing he could vaguely liken the sensation to was pins and needles but even that description didn't cover how he was feeling. And, even more oddly, he felt protected.

Looking around him, Arthur suddenly noticed that other members of his army seemed to have slowed and their confused faces suggested to him that exactly the same stirrings were affecting them. In fact, if he looked closely, he could have sworn that their skin was glowing with an unusual and not entirely natural golden sheen. Magic?

The prince could hear the harsh, maniacal laughing of Evernst as more explosions of colour blossomed from the fiend's hands but as he looked to where each blast landed, it seemed to Arthur that less of his men were being wounded; more of them were crawling away unscathed. Surely, that couldn't be the case?

And the Arch-Sorcerer hadn't even noticed, so caught up was he in his frenzied spell casting.

Panting heavily, Arthur swirled on the spot and sure enough, he saw that all his soldiers were surviving. No matter what weapon thrust or deadly curse was thrown at them, they lived. It was a miracle.

Suddenly, he was aware of something moving fast towards him and he looked up just in time to see a sword catapulting towards him. It glinted madly in the sunshine, throwing off jagged cataracts of light like broken pieces of glass. He ducked just in time so the blade rocketed past him and landed point first, in the soil by his feet. Catching his breath, the prince could only stare in astonishment and then glance around him. No one seemed to have thrown it. Then where had it come from?

Hurrying over to it, Arthur grabbed the hilt in a calloused hand and lifted up so he could see it better. Immediately, he was impressed by the perfect weight of it and the balance. Usually, a weapon was a bit lopsided but this sword…it was perfect. And so beautiful: encrusted with crimson red rubies on the pommel and with an untarnished leather handle that seemed to meld to fit his palm. Staring at it for a few seconds, an inscription on the metal suddenly glimmered gold, as if to catch his attention.

It read: _Excalibur_.

Merlin. He'd done this. All of this. The sudden protection of his soldiers. The perfect sword. Just with that one word that Arthur had spoken – it was the key. In all honesty, the prince was completely and utterly astounded.

However, not as astounded as when a familiar sound reached his battle-weary ears; it reminded him of the flapping of a sheet in the wind on laundry day. He could never have imagined how glad he was hear it. Looking up into the heavens and, frankly, unable to believe his eyes, Arthur caught sight of a majestic winged horse descending like an angelic white deity. Pegasus. He had returned.

Letting out a whinny of greeting, the animal dived towards Arthur and skimmed the grass just beside him. Immediately, the knight knew what he needed to do and took a running leap, catching the horse's pure white mane and pulling himself onto its broad back. He never knew he would be so happy to be flying on the back of a magical creature. Then again, a lot of things had changed.

Armed with Excalibur and riding on Pegasus, Arthur felt hope again. This hope was certainly helped by the fact that although Merlin wasn't here, and could be in mortal danger, he had still left Arthur with his unending loyalty and protection. Nothing could touch him now.

* * *

Like a puppet hanging from his strings, Merlin dangled limply beneath Zalmon. He could feel a slight warmth and a stinging sensation on his shoulders from where the dragon was clutching him but he still managed not to react when he was swung back and forth. He was playing dead. Barely a breath passed his tight lips and his cerulean eyes were firmly shut so as to fool the beast into thinking that he was unconscious or dead. He was hoping for the latter because then it would give him even more of a chance to launch an unexpected attack. It annoyed him that none of his spells had had an affect on Zalmon considering how he'd seen Evernst's curse bowl Alizarin over. Surely, he should have the same powers if he was the chosen one and all that? It left a lot of unwelcome doubt in his already wrought mind.

With the feeling of descent, Merlin realised that Zalmon was landing and, despite desperately wanting to open his eyes to see where he was, the warlock resisted temptation. He merely pondered why the dragon hadn't dropped him or finished him off in the sky when he was helpless. Then again, Zalmon had seen him levitate and therefore probably assumed he could fly. Merlin didn't know if he _could _fly – after all he'd never tried or had the inclination to throw himself off a cliff – but he guessed it was possible considering Evernst managed it. The serving boy was simply thankful that he'd had a chance to practice levitating out of the well before he had to use it to save his own life. He must tell Arthur how thankful he was.

As his mind strayed to his master, Merlin couldn't help but feel terribly worried for him. The servant had made a promise to protect him and although he had done that to the best of his ability, he still wished he was there fighting alongside the prince. He just hoped that Arthur took in his hurried instructions and called Excalibur; if he didn't then there probably wasn't much of a chance of survival. It was strange; Merlin was unsure as to why he had named the sword but he supposed he had a penchant for naming things and it seemed a good idea at the time. Besides, it sounded better than yelling 'Summon the sword' at Arthur. That wouldn't make much sense. He just hoped that Arthur had heeded his words.

There was a painful jolt that shot through his legs as he hit solid ground. After all, he hadn't expected the impact and couldn't have bent his knees to cushion himself at the correct time. Therefore, he just had to try and not wince or show any signs of a reaction. Honestly, it was _very _difficult.

Allowing himself to fall sideward rather than forward so he didn't land on his face and damage it any more than it already was, Merlin felt a rocklike surface knock gently into his cheek. Where on earth were they?

Giving in to his curiosity the warlock cracked open his bright blue eyes, just in time to see a glimpse of a mountain and then the sight of a fifty foot dragon open his mouth in order to display rows of razor sharp teeth. Merlin realised what he was about to do just before he did it – that seemed to be happening a lot lately, perhaps he was stealing Morgana's powers – and dived out of the way to escape being barbequed. The heat from Zalmon's fire blast singed the hairs on his arms.

"Hey, hey! Let's talk this over! I don't want to fight you!" Merlin rolled to his feet and waved his arms, wildly.

For a moment, the dragon paused looking confused. His red eyes shone blankly at the young manservant and it was then that Merlin realised the creature he was trying to reason with _was _no more than the beast that Uther imagined dragons to be. There was no thought or recognition in those blood coloured orbs. Zalmon was merely an animal, tamed by Evernst since he was small and taught to do his bidding. Merlin would have felt terribly sorry for the creature if he wasn't in the process of trying to burn the warlock to a crisp.

Skidding out of the way, the warlock decided that perhaps he should begin with the basics. He hadn't been thinking straight before but as he glanced quickly and deliberately around him, his gaze fell upon a stream running down the mountainside that they were perched on. A grim smile curling his lips, the manservant caught the water with a spell and launched it at Zalmon. He had no idea exactly how you were meant to go about killing a dragon but he guessed this was a good a place to start as any.

_"ædre arise."_

Cold water washed over the white dragon and he let out a deafening screech of annoyance. Other than being wet and now even more irked, the spell didn't seem to have much of an affect on the massive beast.

Frantically, racking his brains for any more ideas, Merlin tried to recall the curse that Evernst had sent to kill Arthur. It came to him moments later. Channelling his magic and thinking only of the spell, the sorcerer sent the power from his hands.

_"andwliteful ásprungennes uppan ðu."_

So proud was Merlin of recalling the curse to the letter that he almost cried when it didn't do anything. A small black stream trickled from his fingers like some pitiful, lank piece of rope and then dropped to the ground before fizzling out into nothingness. He couldn't believe it. Why hadn't it worked? Inadequacy flooded the warlock's mind and he had to fight back the sick feeling clenching like a fist in his chest. He wanted to scream in frustration.

_You're not evil enough, Merlin. _

The voice came in his head and he felt himself wobble in surprise. However, he shouldn't really be startled because there were only a select few people - or dragons - who could talk inside his mind and he knew the most likely suspect. Alizarin.

_I don't believe that you could ever cast that spell because your heart isn't rotten to the core. It is the enchantment of a dark sorcerer. _

"What do I do then?"Merlin gasped out loud.

"Try not to get killed!"

Alizarin's thunderous roar finished his sentence because Zalmon had grown tired of playing with the human boy and had decided to finish it. His spiked tail swished round like one of Arthur's deadly maces, so big that it would crush Merlin completely, and headed straight for the vulnerable youth.

Without even pausing to think about it, Alizarin barrelled into Zalmon's side, knocking the mortal weapon off target, and grabbed at his thick neck. There wasn't anything in his mind except the thought of protecting his tiny friend as the red dragon ripped ferociously into Zalmon's throat, holding his grip until he knew the job was done. Viscous blood spewed from the fatal wound and splashed down the dragon's pure white scales. The beast let out a distressed and pained cry before keeling over onto one side. And then a dreadful silence filled the air.

Alizarin gently released the broken body of the last member of his race and closed his shining golden eyes, feeling the irrevocable guilt wash over him, suffocating him. Hot tears splashed down his crimson cheeks as he shook his majestic head in shame.

Merlin scrambled over to him and placed a cool hand on his scales.

"You saved my life, Ali," he whispered, softly, "You did the right thing. He would have kept on killing. He wasn't like you; not really. Inside….he was just an animal – Evernst's pet."

"He should _never _have been allowed to get like that," Alizarin replied, bitterly, choking on his tears, "It's wrong. He was used. He never got a chance to know what it was like to be a true dragon. I shouldn't have killed him."

Merlin couldn't help but slightly feel the same, though he would never admit it to his distraught companion. In all honesty, he had believed that Zalmon would be evil incarnate and that it would have been easy to destroy him without hesitation but in reality….well, reality was completely different. Zalmon was just like a dog that had been stuck with a wicked master – not by choice but by chance. It wasn't his fault that he turned out the way he had. In fact, it was even more distressing because Zalmon wasn't just some dog; he was one of the rarest creatures on earth, so ancient and magnificent. He was a creature formed completely from natural magic and yet he had been reduced to a pet. It was appalling.

"You did what you had to," the boy-warlock said, gently.

Staring, disconsolately, at the corpse, Alizarin didn't say or do anything. He merely sat on his haunches and allowed the last of his tears to dribble down his face. Finally, when Merlin was just beginning to worry, the dragon heaved in a massive breath and turned to look at him.

"We should go," Merlin suggested, tentatively.

"Yes. We need to make sure that this war is _won_."

Alizarin clambered to his feet and then lowered his front legs so that Merlin could climb on. Lithely pulling himself onto the beast's spiked back; the warlock braced himself for what was to come.

* * *

Arthur had eliminated so many sorcerers and soldiers that he'd lost count. Upon Pegasus he had agility, speed and the element of surprise on his side. Men didn't expect to be attacked from above so he could swoop in and kill several in one lethal blow. Although he didn't particularly enjoy ending the lives of fellow human beings, he could help feel proud every time one was felled because that meant that perhaps one more of his own men could survive. That's what he kept reminding himself: if he didn't kill these soldiers then they would kill other people.

Flashing in the sunshine, Excalibur was more than a match for the griffins and harpies that filled the sky. Whereas before the prince would have had no chance at defeating such magical beasts with a mortal sword, now he had an enchanted one he could destroy them in one swipe. Ogres and Minotaurs; wolves and tigers; they all died at his hand.

Every so often he would glance across at Evernst and see him battling with soldiers, holding them off but not managing to slaughter them. Arthur could see the anger and confusion mounting in his cold, green eyes. Even the prince couldn't imagine the frustration he would feel at facing a weaker opponent who just _wouldn't _die. Still, it gave him a feeling of great glee and satisfaction, especially when the Arch-Sorcerer saw _him_ killing his magical army and looked outraged.

Suddenly, something momentarily blocked out the sun and Arthur looked up to see a red dragon plunging towards them. With his heart in his mouth, the prince immediately searched his broad back and caught sight of the small figure nestled there. Merlin had survived and – judging by Ali's sombre expression – the other dragon was dead. Perhaps, they were winning this battle after all.

If it was possible to look any more furious than he already did, Evernst managed it. His face was now the beetroot purple and his eyes had taken on a reddish tinge. Arthur could have sworn that he was about to explode like some overheating pot left too long on the fire.

"You survived! Again!" Evernst spat into the sky, glaring daggers at Merlin. "You're worse than a cockroach."

"Thanks," Merlin replied, amiably, "I'd say the same about you."

"Who the hell are you?" Evernst roared, "Uther has no sorcerers in his kingdom! He loathes them. Why are you fighting _for _him?"

"My name is Merlin."

"Merlin?" the Arch-Sorcerer repeated, scathingly.

The warlock was unperturbed. "And I'm not going to let you destroy this kingdom, not as long as there is breath left in my body."

"Oh, gods, Merlin," Arthur groaned, quietly, "Now you've gone and done it. You're really asking for it." He didn't think now was really a great time for Merlin to grow a backbone and become a cocky know it all. That was Arthur's job and his alone.

"You'll pay for all the damage you've caused, you insolent idiot," Evernst hissed.

"Bring it on," Merlin shrugged, his eyes flashing gold.

And then Arthur watched the most astounding fight of his life. Never before had he seen powerful sorcerers duel but he certainly was now. His jaw dropped as he saw Merlin in a way that he never could have imagined.

"ýst ádfýr!" Merlin yelled.

A tornado of fire spun from his hands and into the air, crackling and sizzling. It cannoned towards Evernst whose eyes widened in astonishment before he completed a slicing gesture with his palm and sent a cascade of water to extinguish the flames. Obviously realising that perhaps Merlin had a little more power than he'd first anticipated, the Arch-Sorcerer reacted immediately, sending a torrent of lightning back.

Merlin barely flinched (Arthur did all the flinching for him) and collected the energy in his fist like it was tangible. Then he sent it at Evernst in an earth shattering explosion which knocked the sorcerer off his feet.

"cáfnes! cáfnes! cáfnes!" the Arch-Sorcerer shrieked like a banshee.

Balls of red energy burst from him and catapulted towards his opponent. Although Merlin had no idea what they would do if they hit him, he didn't want a chance to find out. Quick as a flash, he darted out of the way with a flying roll midair and then gathered the magic in his hands once more. It blasted from him in a golden light, enveloping the ground in a shimmering glow. And then, with a clap of his hands, the earth beneath Evernst's feet vanished – as did the sorcerer himself.

For a second, Merlin allowed himself to believe that he could have been successful; unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Moments later, the Arch-Sorcerer shot out of the hole and into the air, his eyes flashing dangerously. He was obviously livid.

"You little swine!"

"You should really watch your footing, you know," Merlin quipped, jovially, rubbing a smear of soot from his pale cheek, "You don't know where holes could just _suddenly _appear."

"ásmorian þurhsmúgan!" Evernst bellowed, his face contorted with fury.

And suddenly Merlin couldn't breathe; his airways were constricting. A moment ago he had been happy and now he was panicking as he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. It was terrifying, especially as he couldn't see what was causing it. He was being strangled by magic. Desperately, the warlock's numb fingers scrambled at his neck but there was nothing there to remove. It was invisible. He could hear Evernst's hysterical cackling in the distance, muffled, like he was underwater.

Just as the boy's lips were beginning to blue, he managed to gather enough strength to send a last spell at the enemy sorcerer. This curse, meant to break his arm, knocked him flying and dislodged the enchantment around Merlin's neck. He gasped as his airways were released.

"Who are you?!" Evernst shrieked again, leaping to his feet, looking disbelieving once more, "Where have you come from? Who taught you such magic?"

"My name is Merlin," Merlin repeated, "I'm from Ealdor and I have taught myself everything I know. Well…." He paused, thinking of his rare ability to move things with his mind. "Almost everything."

Suddenly, it looked as though a light had gone on in the Arch-Sorcerer's head. His expression reeled abruptly and he looked physically sick – skin becoming grey and sweaty.

"Emrys?" he breathed.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm guessing you've heard of me too?"

Evernst looked positively stunned. "You can't be! I don't believe it. But…your powers…" He tailed off, merely staring at Merlin.

"I am, I guess. Well, I was told I was. I suppose it's not set in stone but-"

"Join with us!" Evernst commanded, his face taking on a greedy, pig-like quality, "You should join with us, with me, and we will rule this land."

"Its amazing the amount of times I've been offered that and yet I still don't find it any more appealing," Merlin replied, honestly.

"Think of the power. The wealth! The fame. We would go down in history."

"I'd rather go down in history for doing something good, for being brave," Merlin stated, his voice unwavering, "I'd rather die a good man even if I'm never remembered rather than be evil and be remembered for doing evil things. That's not who I am."

The Arch-Sorcerer glared at him. "That is your choice?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll have to kill you then."

Once more, he launched a barrage of spells at Merlin who evaded every single one. His magic was now coursing through him like the blood in his veins. He'd never felt so powerful and so natural in his life. Both he and his magic were one and the same. It was wonderful. For every spell that Evernst sent at him, he threw a better one back. Soon it was the Arch-Sorcerer struggling to survive.

They circled one another like wild animals, hands outstretched, eyes a kaleidoscope of colours. Neither one was willing to give up until the other was dead on the ground. Around them the fight continued; it had to. And, of course, thanks to Merlin, Camelot's army were winning. They were invincible. Red tunics soon outnumbered the green and the Pendragon crest shone proudly on puffed out chests. Vortigern had already been killed – an arrow to the eye - and the battle was almost over.

Arthur was fighting as hard as the next man but his attention kept being drawn to the duelling couple who threw coloured balls of light at one another. He couldn't help it. The distraction was too great.

"Why are your _pitiful _men not dying like they should?" Evernst shouted, clearly irked.

"Because I've protected them," Merlin grinned, smugly, "They are under my enchantment and, whilst they are, nothing can hurt them."

"Even Prince Arthur?"

"Yes," Merlin replied but a small frown creased his brow as he saw Evernst's eyes shift suspiciously.

However, before he could even begin to put his niggling concerns into thoughts or actions, his opponent had vanished from sight. Stunned, the young manservant spun on the spot, his raven hair catching in the breeze. All he could see were a few fighting men and…

"_Merlin_!" The victorious crow of the Arch-Sorcerer certainly didn't bode well for the youth as he whipped round.

Standing a few metres away was Evernst and in front of him was Arthur, fighting another straggler with gusto and completely unaware of the sorcerer who had just materialised behind him.

"You say he is under your protection? That _nothing _can kill him?" the silvery haired man hissed and Merlin suddenly realised that he was speaking in his head, just like Alizarin. "And I'm guessing that sword, in his skilled hand, which is so obviously magical could perhaps be an exception to your rule?"

Merlin's eyes widened in horror and he felt his blood run cold as he saw Excalibur glitter in the prince's grip. The sword that had saved so many lives would be his undoing. There was a loophole. There _always _had to be a loophole. And Evernst had found it!

"After all," Evernst whispered with a cruel smile, "It can kill anything, can't it?"

With that, the sorcerer caught Excalibur midair with his golden haze of magic and plucked it from the prince's hands. Obviously startled, Arthur spun on the spot and only just had time to open his mouth in a surprise before Evernst plunged the blade right through his heart.


	40. Mending the Broken

**Author's Note - Okay, so its a much shorter chapter than the last but I thought you might appreciate it considering how many of you were threatening to do me bodily harm :)**

**I can't believe it though: we've hit 1000 reviews! I thought that was impossible in a fandom as small as this. Thank you sooooo much guys. Unfortunately, I don't think we'll quite make it to 2000 because I'm estimating only two to three chapters remaining. And then it will be the end! Oh gosh, what will I do with myself? Probably do some actual work if I'm being honest. Aha. :)**

**I was mean again ;-)  
**

Arthur's face creased in pain and he let a grunt as Evernst retracted the blade with pleasure. Immediately, the knight dropped to his knees, clutching desperately at his chest and gasping in an effort to draw air into his lungs. His eyes caught Merlin's horrified ones as he fell onto his side and lay still.

"No!" Merlin screamed as Evernst turned to smirk maliciously at him, his eyes as a green as a snake's.

Without another thought, the warlock summoned all of his magic and before the Arch-Sorcerer could do anything, Merlin sent a rocket of golden light at him. With that cruel grin still plastered on his nasty face, Evernst was blown to smithereens and Excalibur clattered to the floor. Particles of dust and ash spiralled into the air as if someone had just swept soot up a chimney and then vanished from sight, caught in the winds. Merlin's nemesis was finished. But was it all too late?

Feeling his breath physically catch in his throat, so much so that he faltered in his stride, the manservant sprinted over to his master – his long legs carried him faster across the terrain than they ever had in his life. Skidding to his knees, Merlin was no longer aware of any of the injuries that had previously been plaguing him because all his attention was focussed on the prone form of his friend, sprawled in the dirt.

"Arthur? Arthur!" he called, panicked.

Turning the man gently onto his back, Merlin's trembling hands reached towards the wound on Arthur's chest as he desperately tried to inspect the damage. The sword had penetrated the cloth of his tunic and the chainmail beneath – such a devastating blow at such close quarters could not be stopped by the thin mesh of metal. As Merlin's fingers came away red and sticky, he knew without a doubt that the prince was in a lot of trouble.

"_Slite!"_ he yelled, frantically, feeling more and more blood cascade onto his hands.

The magic shimmered onto Arthur's clothes and tore them away, exposing the gaping wound. Slick, dark liquid surrounded the hole and continued to pump from it, spilling down Arthur's straining chest; following the lines of his ribs. Merlin gasped at the hopelessness of the situation. He was no physician but even he knew such a wound was fatal; Arthur's heart and lungs had been damaged beyond repair. With that one stab, Evernst had succeeded in destroying the future of Camelot.

Merlin was astonished that the prince was even holding onto life. His breathing was erratic and increasingly shallow but he was still alive – just. The warlock couldn't imagine the pain his master was in and couldn't help be in awe considering the fact that if their positions were reversed then he knew he would be squealing like a baby. Occasionally, Arthur let out pained grunts but that was the extent of his noise.

Closing his eyes, the warlock felt hot, stinging tears slide down his milky cheeks and he felt an immense guilt for not protecting his friend properly. He should have _thought _of the loophole in his defence mechanism; he should have _known_. If he hadn't been so naïve, so cocky, then perhaps Arthur wouldn't be dying on the blood-soaked earth beside him.

"Merlin!" Segwarides appeared beside him. "What happened?"

Looking up, Merlin saw that the knight's face was streaked with mud and blood and that his blond hair was matted. He was still breathing heavily, no doubt having just finished a fight, and was staring at Arthur with stunned brown eyes. It was as if he couldn't believe that their esteemed, brave leader had been hurt. The prince was meant to be invincible in their eyes – after all, he had survived many attempts on his life before. Just above this wound and a little to the right were the pink scars given to him by the Questing Beast. Unfortunately, this time Merlin didn't have the chance to visit the Island of the Blessed and bargain for his master's life. This was it; Arthur was about to die.

"He's dying," Merlin whispered, his eyes sparkling with tears.

"What? No, he can't be!" Seg exclaimed, raking a hand through his locks, "Do something. You can save him!"

"How?" Merlin shouted, "He's been stabbed through the _heart_! I know some magical healing spells but I don't know one powerful enough to save his life!" The manservant's voice was wrought with the agony and injustice of the situation, mixed in with his own unworthiness and powerlessness.

Segwarides merely stared at Arthur's slowly dying body and rubbed a fierce hand over his shining eyes, forcing back the tears. He shook his head and seemed unable to say anything. Merlin noticed that the man was beginning to tremble, just like he had. It was reality setting in – taking hold with its sharp, unrelenting claws.

"Y-You have to…." the tall knight began, his voice quavering. He collected himself, stiffening his shoulders. "You have to do something to ease his passing," he gulped.

Realising that Segwarides was correct and that that sort of spell was within his capabilities, Merlin turned back to his dying master and gently stroked his damp hair whilst clenching his teeth and wishing that he could change the situation. Using one of the enchantments he had learnt whilst studying Gaius' spell book, Merlin whispered, softly, _"__gelíðian."_

Immediately, Arthur's face seemed to smooth and he stopped arching his back off the ground in an effort to alleviate the pain. Although Merlin felt that he'd vaguely helped, he still couldn't shake the feeling of failure that was overwhelming him. After all this: becoming his servant, finding out their destinies were shared, saving his life dozens of times, travelling across continents with him and even, _finally_, showing him his true identity and being accepted; he hadn't managed to fulfil his job and put Arthur on the throne. It just wasn't fair.

Seeing that Segwarides had paced away, Merlin leant forward, speaking into the shell of Arthur's ear. "You can't die," he said in a choked voice, "You just _can't_. You're my best friend, Arthur Pendragon. We're meant to protect each other. _I _was meant to protect _you_ from this. I'm so sorry." Merlin's whole frame shuddered. "But you can't die, not after everything that's happened. I never did tell you how many times I saved your life. It was nineteen at last count but that was before this war – I think I should get an extra ten for the spell I cast on Excalibur."

"And minus twenty for letting this happen," Arthur croaked.

Merlin was so surprised that he jumped backwards, his mouth dropping open, before he scrambled even closer and peered into his master's pallid face. Arthur smiled weakly up at him, not moving anything except his lips and even that seemed to cause him pain. His blue eyes cracked open just an inch and he looked amusedly up into his servant's shocked face.

"No need to look like a stunned fish, you idiot," Arthur murmured, dazedly. If Merlin didn't know better then he would say that the prince merely looked sleepy, like he had just been woken up in the morning. "I'm simply taking this opportunity to say my last words. I'll make it quick."

"You can't die!" Merlin butted in, catching Arthur's grazed hand in his own.

Arthur winced. "I think it's a bit late to be making such demands, don't you? I don't think I could come back even if I wanted…ah." The knight hissed in pain. "And besides, you're still the servant in this relationship, Merlin, you can't tell me….ah….what to do."

"Now is _really _not the time to pull rank."

"Rank? Merlin, I'm the bloody prince of Camelot, not that that has ever meant _anything _to you; its hardly to do with rank, more the fact that I'm royal and you're not."

"Cor," Merlin muttered, still quivering, "You don't get half fussy when you're dying."

"It's my privilege," Arthur retorted, looking up into the heavens. This was the last time that he would ever see its vibrant blueness or the golden sun which blazed at the highest point in the sky. It was midday.

"I'm sorry, like I said," Merlin said, interrupting his thoughts.

"You've got nothing…ah…to be sorry for…ah…this isn't your fault."

Merlin frowned, his brown creasing. "Everything's always my fault."

Arthur shook his head and tried to speak but instead winced again and Merlin registered that his master's pain was increasing once more. Perhaps, that meant he was almost gone. Frankly, he should be dead already. Merlin knew that his heart probably should have given out instantly or at least a minute after the stabbing but somehow he had survived. Although he wasn't entirely sure why Arthur had stayed alive so long, he had a pretty good idea. Even though Excalibur had penetrated Merlin's defences initially, they still lingered inside Arthur and therefore were keeping him alive for the time being. Unfortunately, the warlock knew that was only short term; soon, the power would seep from the prince and he would die. However, Merlin had no idea when that would happen.

"Its not…ah….your fault. I blame you but you…ah…know I don't mean it, don't you?" Arthur suddenly said, hoarsely. "You are so important to me, Merlin. I've never wanted to hurt you."

"Well," Merlin chuckled, slightly, "I wouldn't say _never _- I still haven't forgotten you beating me black and blue when we first met - but thank you."

"Actually, it was the _second _time," Arthur corrected, smiling, "And you gave me some bruises too."

"Pfft…." Merlin shook his head. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye.

Turning round, he suddenly realised that they were surrounded by a ring of scarlet soldiers. They were like barrier from the outside world, enclosing Arthur and Merlin in a protective bubble. All of them had their heads bent in a sign of respect to their fallen prince – they weren't quite sure what was going on but they knew that he was wounded. Varying degrees of worry showed on their battle-scarred faces and Merlin knew that those faces would soon show signs of mourning.

However, as he surveyed the waiting men, he was certain of one thing: they had won the war. It was over. These were the survivors of the battle, the few that there were, and somehow Camelot had come out on top but at the price of their leader's life.

Segwarides was standing just in front of the circle of men, still looking shocked and unsure of what to do. He didn't seem to want to come close again though, understanding that Merlin and Arthur needed time alone and not wanting to intrude. Suddenly remembering the other two knights that were of utmost importance to him, the warlock did another quick scrutiny of the soldiers gathered. They didn't seem to be present. He wondered whether Segwarides knew what had befallen them but he didn't want to ask in case it was more bad news. He didn't think he could handle that.

"Merlin…." Arthur said, abruptly, "I think the pain is getting worse." His face was tense.

"Do you want me to do my spell again to help that?" Merlin asked, tentatively. The prince nodded, mutely, obviously in too much agony to reply. _"__gelíðian." _A golden glow enveloped the injured man.

"You should really sell that painkiller, Merlin, you'd be a wealthy man," Arthur breathed, gratefully.

"To be honest, I don't think I'll have much of a chance what with your father wanting my head on a platter."

"Hmm…" Arthur murmured, weakly, as if his mind was barely there. He was finally drifting away.

A fresh wave of tears assaulted the manservant as he ran a shaking hand through his ash hair and realised that he was about to lose his best friend for good. When he was younger, he used to hate crying, he always cursed himself for being so sensitive – like a girl, Arthur would say – but right now it just felt like pure relief; the only way he could vent his emotions and communicate how he was feeling when he couldn't put it into words.

However, just as Arthur began to close his cobalt eyes again, a murmuring started behind him and, although he wasn't that interested, he turned his head and saw, in his peripherals, the massive frame of Alizarin. He was surprised that he hadn't heard the dragon coming but he guessed that the young creature was getting lighter on his feet and his landings with experience. Majestically, the dragon stepped into the area cordoned off by the soldiers and Merlin was surprised when they didn't stop him considering what he was and what he represented. Perhaps, they had seen everything the magical beast had done for them and accepted him.

Ali padded quickly over to the small pair, one kneeling and the other prone, and assessed the situation.

"Where have you been?" were the first words out of Merlin's mouth.

"I went to cremate, Zalmon. I'm sorry, I know it was a bad time but I thought I wasn't needed and I had to make sure he had a proper ritual. I thought the war was practically won."

"I was still fighting Evernst!" Merlin protested.

The dragon looked at him sincerely. "I knew you would win and you would do it without my or anyone else's help."

"I won but I didn't protect Arthur from Evernst. He's going to die."

"When did you become such a pessimist?" the dragon asked, accusingly.

"Since Arthur had a sword plunged into his chest!" Merlin shouted, angrily, all his emotions pouring out. "I can't fix his _heart _so he's going to die and Uther will reign forever, killing even more innocent sorcerers in an effort to avenge his dead son!"

"He can be saved."

Freezing, stunned by Alizarin's simple words, Merlin couldn't even seem to string a sentence together. He had been about to set off on another distressed rant but the dragon had halted him instantly in his tracks. Blue eyes widening, the warlock looked towards the crimson creature with newfound hope.

"_How_?" he gasped. "Tell me, Ali! What can I do?"

"Unfortunately, you are right, Merlin," the dragon began, sagely; "There _is _nothing _you_ can do."

"_What_?" the manservant yelped, horrified.

"But there's something _I _can do."

Merlin stared at the enormous dragon, perplexed, unsure of what to make of his words. He waited to be told.

Alizarin took a deep breath and continued, "It is said that a dragon's heart is stronger than any other in existence and that it can withstand damage that would destroy a weaker one. In stories from ancient times, it is suggested that if part of a dragon's heart is removed and given to another individual then that individual's life can be saved. Of course, it comes at a hefty price."

"Which is?" Merlin whispered.

"An existence that far exceeds any other member of its race. If I was to give Arthur part of my heart then he would live as long as I do."

Merlin didn't miss a beat. "Do it." He looked at Arthur's flickering butterfly-eyelashes and then stared intensely back into the dragon's golden orbs.

"If you're sure that's what he would want?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Alizarin lent back on his haunches and reached towards his chest. "I will use my body to shield this from the others. It isn't going to be pretty."

"I know," Merlin said, resolutely.

Satisfied that the boy-warlock knew what he was asking for, the scarlet dragon extended one of his razor sharp talons and brought it against the softer skin of his underside. Gently at first, he pressed in the point and barely winced as it passed through. Merlin turned away so he didn't have to watch and waited until he heard the grunt of Alizarin which told him that he was done. He looked back and saw the deep red gash down the centre of the dragon's breastbone.

"Fix me, Merlin," Alizarin said, quietly.

"_gestrician,_" Merlin said and his eyes flashed ochre. The dragon's wound sealed immediately.

His gaze travelled to the strange, red pumping object hanging in front of the dragon's chest, it was surrounded by a golden haze. Merlin hadn't realised that dragons possessed such magic but he guessed there was a lot of things he didn't really know – he'd never _wanted _to ask Kilgharrah but, after this was finished, he made up his mind to ask Alizarin about the dragons' history.

Alizarin carefully floated his heart towards Arthur and he jerked his head, gesturing for Merlin to prepare Arthur. Feeling a little ill at all this blood, the warlock bent over his master and, using the same spell he'd cast to tear the prince's clothes, he cut a thin line down Arthur's tanned chest. It was difficult for Ali to negotiate placing the heart in the young man so Merlin had to clench his stomach and pull the pulsing object out of the air. Once he had it, he felt even more nauseous and hadn't a clue what to do.

"What now?" he said, queasily.

"Place it on top of his damaged heart," Alizarin directed.

"There are ribs and other _stuff _in the way, you know," Merlin replied, reluctantly poking his hand inside. He didn't ever want to talk about putting his hand inside Arthur after this moment, it was too strange. Everything was warm and squishy. He shuddered.

"I didn't know you were squeamish, Merlin," the dragon said, casually.

The boy made a face. "Putting your hand inside your best friend kind of does that to you."

"Anyway," Ali continued, "Just place the heart inside and I'll do the rest."

"If you're sure."

Once he had placed the heavy organ inside his friend, Merlin sat back and waited, his curious eyes watching the open chest. Suddenly, Arthur's torso glowed golden and strange little stars seemed to gather inside the wound, they clumped together like clotting blood. In wonderment, the warlock merely stared as the two hearts fused and became one. Eventually, the glow faded away.

"Mend him, Merlin."

The boy did as he was told. "_gestrician_."

And then Arthur's chest looked as if it had never been damaged, a clean slate of sun-browned skin.

"It is done," Ali said, softly. The dragon took a step backwards and turned away.

"Where are you going?" Merlin called, "What if it didn't work?"

"I'm just leaving to get my head together. I have a lot to think about but I will return," Alizarin replied, "It worked. Look."

As he said those words, Merlin heard a groggy groan from behind him and he whipped round to see Arthur's eyes blinking open once more. He looked dazed and more than a little confused especially when he looked down at his bare torso and saw it unscathed. In fact, he did several double takes which thoroughly amused Merlin despite him being in his emotionally wrung out state. Sitting up abruptly and looking immediately dizzy from the head rush, Arthur croaked, "How the hell…?"

"It's complicated."

"Merlin!" Arthur growled.

"_Very_ complicated," Merlin grinned, sheepishly, rubbing at the trails of wetness still lurking on his cheeks. He didn't need to cry anymore; Arthur had survived.

"Tell me _now_, Merlin. You can't fob me off with made up nonsense."

"I've done it _a lot _of times before and you've never noticed. Let's just say we won and you're lucky to be alive." Seeing his friend's irritated expression, Merlin laughed. "I'll tell you later when you're in a fitter state."

Suddenly, a cheer rose up from the soldiers as they realised that their prince had survived. Wobbling to his feet, still experiencing the symptoms of blood loss but not actually having a wound to show for it anymore, Arthur nodded gratefully at them and then quickly leant on Merlin for support.

"So we won?" he asked, surveying the battlefield with something akin to astonishment, "Even with you being a cocky fool."

"It's nice to know you think so much of me," Merlin said, sighing.

"Oh, you know I like you really." Arthur paused. "Deep down."

"_Very _deep down."

**Inspired by DragonHeart of course. I loved that film. Please review!**


	41. Finding the Wounded

**Author's Note - Thanks for the wonderful and continuous reviews. They really fuel the story. **

Despite their joviality at being alive, the survivors could not help but be sobered by the devastation around them. Corpses were strewn across the once beautiful green pastures; the grass slickened with bright, red blood – each step was marred with a sickening stickiness. A few horses stumbled forlornly among their dead masters, unsure of what to do and afraid of the stench of death that hung in the air. They would have to be collected soon but first the wounded needed to be salvaged from the wreckage and helped as best they could.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin picked his way through the sea of bodies and tried to control his roiling stomach as he searched for survivors. His cerulean eyes were distressed as his gaze fell on countless blank faces and broken figures. These were once men; they had lives and families and were loved. He didn't even distinguish between the two sides anymore, there wasn't any point; every single one was a life extinguished before its time.

The rest of the knights had spanned out among the dead and occasionally he heard them yell out for the army physician who would hurry over to see if he could save _one _more life. Merlin himself didn't need to call for the doctor as he had healing powers of his own. He could mend wounds with merely a flash of his eyes. Several young men had whimpered desperately and, immediately, he had been at their side and fixing them. Obviously, he couldn't save everyone but he had to try.

All the time that he was helping people, he was still scanning the faces for his friends: Erec and Tristram. When he had asked Segwarides whether he'd seen them, the young knight had shaken his head and looked concerned. It seemed that the two soldiers had vanished amidst the chaos of the fight and not been since. That worried Merlin _a lot_.

It was after a period that Merlin noticed that Arthur was shadowing him like some silent ghost warrior. He wasn't sure whether the prince was doing it consciously or unconsciously but he registered there was a certain protectiveness to his stance and Merlin guessed that it was perhaps because he wasn't sure if the soldiers had accepted the manservant for what he was: a warlock. Arthur probably suspected that they might try and kill Merlin if he wasn't on guard. Although it was admittedly touching, it was rather hindering the warlock's efforts.

He shot the prince what he hoped was a reassuring smile and then veered away from him, wondering if Arthur would continue to follow.

"_Merlin_," Arthur shouted, abruptly and Merlin spun round to face him with raised eyebrows.

"What?"

"Are you trying to be difficult?" the prince grunted, embarrassed all of a sudden. A pale pink blush blossomed on his cheeks.

"Er…." Merlin frowned and scratched the back of his head, "Not particularly." He paused. "But then again, everything I seem to do irritates you. It must be an ingrained habit. Is there something wrong?"

Arthur's flush deepened. "Well, it's just, I want to look after you but you _keep _walking off." The prince was now ducking his head and looking ashamed for admitting such a thing.

"I'm not a _baby_, Arthur. I thought you could have realised I could look after myself after all that's happened?"

"Force of habit," he replied, tousling a hand through his matted locks. Then he looked his friend up and down with scrutinising eyes. "Besides, you aren't doing a very good job of caring for yourself. By the way in which your standing, I would say that you've broken one rib _at least_," Arthur said, suddenly looking very concerned as he approached the other boy.

Merlin was bent slightly like an old man and there was obvious guarding to his chest. His breath was also uneven and although the prince knew that could be from the battle's exertion, he also knew it could be a sign of a cracked rib.

"Look, hold still."

Catching his friend's slender arm, Arthur stopped him from escaping so he could tend to his injuries. After everything Merlin had done for him, Arthur would not allow him to ignore his own needs when he was in such obvious pain. It was the adrenaline still keeping him going but once that faded away, Merlin's eager attitude would fade with it and leave him in intense agony. Arthur knew from experience.

Feeling like he was trying to curtail a small child's plight for freedom, Arthur grunted and hit his uncooperative friend upside his head. Merlin let out a yelp of surprise.

"Stop being a hero and let me look at you."

Forcefully, Arthur ripped Merlin's shirt up and winced when he saw dark bruising that spread like an ink stain across his friend's paper-white skin. It almost looked unnatural in its vividness; highlighted by the midday sun. The boy hissed through clenched teeth as Arthur gently prodded the tender area and announced that he had cracked at least two ribs.

"How on earth did this happen?" he asked, incredulous at the magnitude of the bruises.

"Magical ball to the chest," Merlin grinned, weakly. "It hurt more than one of your dratted maces."

"I'm not surprised," Arthur replied, complete disbelief colouring his tone. "You look like you've gone a round with a bull in rutting season….and lost."

"Badly," Merlin quipped.

"Yes."

"Can I go now?"

"You should be resting! That could do some _serious _damage inside you," Arthur stated, worriedly.

"I'll be fine. I can't fix it with magic but once we're back home I'll get Gaius to look at it. Does that suit you?"

"Not really but I guess it will have to do what with you being as stubborn as a mule."

"Thank you," Merlin smiled and twisted out of his master's grip. "We've got to find Erec and Tristram."

"I know."

Sighing, Arthur followed his friend further into the centre of the field and the pair of them continued to help the wounded. As he walked, the prince still couldn't get over the fact that somehow he was alive despite being delivered what should have been a fatal stab to the chest. He had been in agony when it happened; there was no way he could just _forget _pain like that and yet he hadn't a single scratch to show for his time spent writhing in agony. Occasionally, he would brush his palm across his torn shirt and feel the smooth skin through the gap that Merlin had created. If anything, it was even more unblemished than when he had come into battle. The frayed edges of his shirt and the dull links of the chain mail were stained with dried blood, hardened and blackened. There had to have been a wound for that to happen.

He really wanted to ask Merlin what had happened again and, although he assumed that it had something to do with magic, he felt it was more than that. There was something different about him.

There was a sudden yell up ahead that distracted Arthur from his whirling thoughts and he looked up to see Merlin hurdling a dead horse with astonishing speed and grace. Alarmed by his friend's movement, the prince sprinted in the direction the raven headed youth had gone and skidded to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of Sir Erec, lying against a pile of bodies and churned up earth. His face was ashen and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his chalky skin, making his dark hair stick to his forehead. His breathing was erratic and hurried but his eyes were closed.

"Erec!" Merlin exclaimed, horrified by his condition. "What happened?"

Crouching down beside the distressed knight, the manservant felt for his pulse and was relieved to find it relatively strong, thrumming against his fingers. Erec's eyes flickered open and his stormy grey irises captured Merlin's blue ones.

"Merlin?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're alive."

"Yes."

"And the prince?"

"He's alive too," Merlin reassured the older man, quickly assessing his injuries.

Almost immediately, he discovered the source of all Erec's problems and that was because his left hand had been completely severed. The bloody, pulpy stump hung limply by the soldier's hip, collecting a covering of dirt from where it brushed the ground. It was an ugly, sickening wound and Merlin felt himself blanch at the sight of it. However, he had to remind himself that he'd already placed a heart inside a body so really he should be able to take any amount of gore thrown at him.

"Oh gods, Erec, your hand…." He tailed off, weakly, unable to finish.

Erec chuckled, feebly. "I'm not feeling very _handy_ at the moment, if I'm being honest."

Merlin winced. "That was a terrible, _terrible _joke. So terrible, in fact, that I don't think I'll ever forget it."

"You and me both," Arthur interjected, coming to crouch beside him, his concerned face looming over his loyal knight. "Is there anything you can do for him, Merlin?" There was a touch of desperation to his words but for the most part they were calm. It just showed what a good, level-headed leader he was – there was no point in scaring his men after all.

"I can't reattach the hand." He looked around. "Even if I could find it but I can cauterise the flesh and make sure it doesn't get infected."

"Do that," Arthur practically ordered.

"That _was _the plan," Merlin murmured, sarcastically. Then he turned to Erec and looked horribly apologetic. "I'm so sorry Erec but this _will _hurt."

"Just do it, Merlin," Erec breathed. His eyelids were fluttering like moths; fragile and fading. They would stop in an instant if he didn't stem the bleeding.

"Forgive me," the manservant whispered and then carefully touched Erec's flesh; it was hot and sticky,"bærnett ond þurhhælan."

There was a choked cry from the older knight but to his credit he made no sound other than that and barely showed the pain that he would have undoubtedly been in as the skin where his hand should have been was seared shut. An angry redness sprung up over the cauterised wound but that would see become less inflamed and the skin would mesh itself together once more. For now, Erec would just have to cope with the pain that Merlin had dulled to a faint throb with his magic.

"Will he be all right?" Arthur asked, anxiously.

Merlin nodded. "He should be." However, the tenseness to his face belied his words and nobody _quite _believed him. Trying to move the subject on, the manservant patted the knight's muscular arm and then asked, "Have you seen Tristram?" He paused and gulped. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Erec frowned, his brow crinkling as he tried to recall when he'd last seen his young comrade. It had been a time ago and anything could have happened between then and now.

"I think….I think I remember him fighting after Merlin arrived back. In fact, I remember him fighting after Merlin had been kidnapped by that dragon because he was both worried and furious at the same time. His blows were rather haphazard and I had to remind him to be careful or he'd receive a side swipe." The knight ran the back of his palm across his sweaty forehead, looking uneasy. "He wasn't protecting his left side, you see. A mistake of the inexperienced or distracted." His mouth twisting into a worried grimace, Erec looked up at them, regret colouring his tone. "I should have looked after him better."

Arthur stepped in. "Firstly, we don't even _know _that anything has happened to him, Erec, and secondly, it can hardly be your fault; you can't be expected to watch him like a child because he's not one. He's a fully grown man and knight of the realm. I'm sure he managed to look after himself."

"I hope you're right, sire." Erec nodded but still looked dejected.

"Right, we need to get you back to the castle, can you stand or are you too weak?" Merlin asked, already knowing full well that a knight of Camelot would never _ever _admit to being weak and would do all in his power to appear otherwise.

Erec was not a disappointment.

"I will be fine. Thank you for….fixing my hand."

He started to heave himself up and instinctively went to place his left hand on the ground. Only realising just in time to stop himself severely hurting himself, a dark look passed across Erec's face and he jerked back, sharply, before recollecting himself. This time, leaning all his weight on his uninjured arm, the man pushed himself to his feet. He flat out rejected the help that Arthur offered him.

With the tendons straining in his neck, he stood upright and, after a moment's wobble, managed to stay still. He half-nodded himself as if saying 'see, I told you I could do it' to his body. Although it would have been right to feel sorry for the knight, neither Arthur nor Merlin felt in anyway inclined that way. In fact, they both merely felt immense respect and awe for the brave soldier. The loss of limb would not hinder him – they could both see that now. He took it in his stride.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Merlin replied, apologetically.

"Don't be silly, Merlin, you've saved my life," Erec said, sharply, glaring fiercely into the manservant's eyes to make sure he understood, "now I get to go back home and see my wife and my daughter. I couldn't ask for more."

"You deserve it," the boy replied, earnestly.

Erec smiled. "And you deserve so much more than has ever been given to you, Merlin. You are a _very _special person and I'm ashamed of myself for ever doubting you – I hope you can forgive me for the moment where my prejudices clouded judgement. It should never have happened."

"Er…" Merlin was taken aback; he had forgiven the knight as soon as he defended him in the council chambers. "Of course."

"I am honoured to be your friend and ally."

"As am I."

"And Arthur," Erec turned to the prince, "You are very different from your father and yet very much the same; try and remember that in the upcoming days. He loves you." His expression was intense and Arthur felt his heart pounding uncomfortably loudly in his ears. "As you can probably tell, I can no longer be one of your knights but I have enjoyed my time serving under you and will always be loyal to you and the kingdom. I will return to my family now."

With that, Sir Erec limped away; his slightly hunched shoulders the only indicator that he was in any pain or discomfort at all. As they watched him go, they knew that he was the one man that encapsulated what it meant to be a true knight of Camelot and Arthur doubted whether he would have one the same. Wise. Brave. Loyal. Honest. Skilful. He knew he could list more attributes but there was no need. Perhaps, he could request the experienced warrior help him train new recruits in the future and therefore not lose him completely.

"Right, we _have _to find Tristram," Arthur stated, determinedly.

* * *

And they did find him some time later. He was lying among the corpses on his back, unmoving. Upon catching sight of him, Merlin yelled for Arthur and the two of them charged across the slippery grass towards him, hearts in their mouths. Calling the knight's name as he ran, the warlock desperately hoped that he would shout or at least move in reply. He did neither. Did that mean they were too late?

Sick at the thought, Merlin stumbled to a halt beside the young man and stopped, staring. The boy was as still as a plank of wood and his eyes stared glassily up into the sky – skin as pale as marble and hard to the touch. The manservant only found this out as he carefully probed Tristram for injuries and found that his flesh did not give beneath his fingers. It was like touching cold stone.

"What's wrong with him? Is he dead?" Arthur asked; obviously confused as he too felt the strange texture of Tristram's skin.

"Um…." Merlin's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to find a pulse. "I don't think so. In fact….I think he's petrified."

"_Petrified_?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"There's no need to get smart, Merlin," Arthur reprimanded him, pointedly. "What do you mean by petrified?"

"Someone has cast a spell on him and petrified him so he can't move. I don't know whether he can sense we're here or whether he's completely out of it."

"So he's alive?"

"Yes, I'm certain. Now, I need to think of the counter spell that can get him back to normal."

"An _un-_petrifying spell?"

"Yup."

"Do you know any of those?"

"Not as such…" Merlin paused, looking thoughtful. "But I'm sure I can make one up."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "Make one up?"

"I know enough language from the Old Religion now. I think I can. See, let me think….er….the word for wake is _wæccan_ and then if I add _stán ond ageofan onstyrednes_. Yes."

Nodding to himself, Merlin focussed on the stiff body in front of him, hovering his bony hands above Tristram's rigid face, palms down. Taking a deep breath, he whispered the words: "_wæccan stán ond ageofan onstyrednes_."

His eyes transformed into molten topaz and Arthur watched the magic visibly spread over the youth's frame, coating it in a golden glow. Although the prince felt a little bit uncomfortable, he couldn't help but be enraptured by the enchantment and the obvious power emanating from the skinny servant. In fact, in Arthur's view, Merlin was no longer a servant (he _was _still skinny) but he could certainly never return to such a lowly post, that much was certain. Merlin was a sorcerer with the power of hundreds of men at his fingertips. He had already saved so many lives today and was about to save another.

Arthur flinched a little when Tristram drew a sudden intake of breath and his whole body arched as if a jolt of lightning had been passed through him. His eyeballs rolled crazily in his head like a frightened horse caught in a storm before he eventually stilled. Both Merlin and Arthur tensed in anticipation.

"Whoa!" Tristram's young voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife through warmed butter – completely satisfying. He looked around wildly. "What on earth happened?"

"You were petrified."

"I was?" The boy frowned, bewildered. "The last thing I remember was….fighting this sorcerer. He didn't seem very experienced because he didn't have the guts to properly try and kill me. I was surprised. After all, I kind of assumed – no offence, Merlin – that most sorcerers were completely rotten and merely wanted to harm non-magic folk but he was definitely holding back. Maybe he petrified me because he didn't want to actually kill me."

"Well," Arthur stated, "we must be thankful for that."

"I wonder what happened to him," Tristram said, curiously, looking around at the devastation with a pasty face. "Did we win then? I assume that's why you two are still alive and not stuffed and mounted on Vortigern's wall?"

"And you would be entirely right. Merlin saved the day."

Merlin looked both pleased and embarrassed. "Wow, it feels extraordinarily strange to get the credit for once."

Tristram grinned, widely. "Well I much appreciate it Merlin, I always knew there wasn't an evil bone in your body."

"Thanks, Tristram."

"I'm sure everyone else does too. Uther should be proud to have you on his side…"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Tristram could tell that he'd put his foot in it. His cheeks flamed red and he swiftly tried to think of a way to make the awkward situation better but he couldn't. Instead, he settled for ducking his head slightly and looking up through his eyelashes to see how Merlin and Arthur had reacted. Both seemed generally impassive on the outside to his throwaway comment but he knew that their inner turmoil would be significant. He had brought up a topic that they hadn't wanted to broach at all and had been putting off what with the joy of being victorious. Arthur had barely spared a thought as to how his father would react to a dragon and a sorcerer's part to play in the triumph of Camelot. It would probably infuriate him.

However, with a sudden rush of clarity in his head, Arthur knew that he would do whatever it took to make sure that Merlin and Alizarin were safe. He wasn't going to allow his tyrannical father to walk over him in this case. No. He was going to be an immovable and fearsome figure.

Seeing the set to Prince Arthur's angular jaw and the flash of fear in Merlin's eyes, Tristram quickly tried to change the subject. "So, er….how long have I been out? I vaguely remember there being a flying horse somewhere. Was that a dream or reality?"

Merlin glanced over Tristram's shoulder and caught sight of something before looking back at the young knight. He looked sheepish. Flipping his chin over his shoulder, the knight looked to see what he had observed and found himself staring with astonishment at a pure white horse – as white as snow on the crests of the mountains – with massive swan-like wings spanning above its head. There were a few red gashes marring its flanks but other than that it was a completely flawless, unblemished slate of sleek fur; shimmering in the rays of sunshine. He was reminded of deities that were said to descend from heaven – enveloped in a magical aura.

"What is _that_?" he breathed, astounded.

"That's Pegasus," Arthur replied, rubbing the side of his face, ruefully. He didn't know how many more magical beings his friends and knights could take. "He's a winged horse."

"I can _see _that," Tristram retorted, eyes as wide as dinner plates. "He's beautiful. Where is he from?"

"Well, we found him in Italy when we were escaping from the amphitheatre and…."

"_Arthur_," Merlin interrupted, his tone amused, "We didn't just _find _him, have you not realised by now that it was me that created him?"

The prince gaped at him. "What?" he choked, "You _made _him?"

"Yes, with my magic but for obvious reasons I couldn't tell you."

"_You _made a flying horse?"

"Yes, Arthur, are we ever going to get over this constant repetition stage? You're like an annoying toddler." Merlin sighed and scraped a hand over his forehead. "Pegasus is of my creation and I cast a spell on him so he would return to us if he felt we needed him and obviously he felt it. The same with Excalibur."

"Admittedly, that was _very _clever," Arthur conceded, "I didn't think you could fit so much intelligence in that tiny brain of yours."

"Size isn't everything," Merlin stated, sagely.

"That's what you keep telling yourself," the prince quipped, slyly, and perhaps slightly childishly.

Merlin made a face. "Ha. Ha." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Your 'way' with words honestly astounds me sometimes."

"So does yours." Arthur allowed a massive grin to break out across his face.

"We have to let him go again though."

"Aw….why?" Tristram whined, still staring at the stunning beast with almost lovesick eyes. No one could look at Pegasus and not be taken in by his sheer beauty – it was unparalleled because, after all, he was one of a kind. "Could you make another one?"

"Er…." Merlin paused and pretended to look thoughtful. "Let me think….no. I shouldn't have even created him in the first place. This world isn't designed for flying horses just as it's not designed for griffins or harpies or fairies. Next we'll be talking about _us _flying and then we'll know that the whole universe has gone bonkers."

"Think how far you could travel on flying horses though, Merlin," Arthur interjected.

"No," Merlin deadpanned.

"They would be brilliant weapons. Supreme to all others."

"No."

"They could breed and we could…."

"No, Arthur."

"_Fine_, it was just a thought. You're such a spoil sport."

"Perhaps, you should be thinking about what we're going to say to your father when we return to Camelot instead of legions of winged horses."

That shut the young prince up. His jaw snapped and he looked away, his gaze hardening. Trying not to let his anxiety show, he immersed himself in intense thought and tried to think of ways that he could get his father to believe his story and to trust Merlin. He didn't even mind if all sorcery wasn't allowed back but he just wanted Merlin to be safe – and at his side. If the manservant went then so did he. They were best friends.

He felt a gentle, warm presence by his left elbow and realised that Merlin had fallen into step beside him. The servant knew not to say anything but just to keep Arthur company whilst he dealt with the monumental decisions churning in his mind. It certainly was a comfort; that was something that the prince could no longer deny.

"I should probably tell you about what happened before…." Merlin tailed off, glancing behind him to where Tristram was wandering along after them. He didn't seem to be listening. "….I mean with you being healed and everything."

"You know," Arthur replied, seeing his friend's tortured expression, "If it's really that bad then I'm not sure I want to know."

"You kind of have to, I think, you need to go to your father in possession of all the facts…."

"And they are? Cut to the chase, Merlin!"

The boy heaved in a huge breath before blurting out. "Alizarin gave you part of his heart to save your life. There is the heart of a dragon pumping inside of you."

Arthur felt the said heart judder in complete shock.


	42. The Loss of a Friend

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for the reviews. They are very, very much appreciated. I'm glad you are still enjoying this story even as it draws to an end. I would say two chapters after this one are left and then its all over. :O**

Immediately, Arthur's hand flew to his chest and pressed against his flesh, where the wound that Evernst inflicted upon him once was. If he had been expecting anything to happen then he would have been disappointed because his skin remained exactly the same. He rubbed the smoothness with an unreadable expression on his handsome face but his blue eyes were strangely soft.

Tentatively, he prodded a bit harder and then seemed to listen out as if he would be able to detect a difference in the sounds that his original heart and this new hybrid heart made. Obviously, he didn't hear anything significant but he could have sworn that the organ was pumping a little harder in his chest – it felt stronger. And that wasn't just because of what he had discovered; he had recognised this change before he'd been told that a dragon's heart had been placed inside him. He wasn't imagining it. Then again, it wasn't surprising as dragons were huge and practically invincible; they would need an equally tough organ. But now that heart was in him….what did that mean?

He could barely form coherent thoughts as he considered the significance of his transformed heart. It changed everything and nothing at the same time. He had already known what he was going to do before he discovered this new information but now that he had it with him, it just made him even more resolved.

"Alizarin gave me his heart? Where is he?"

"_Part _of his heart," Merlin corrected, quickly. "He's gone away for awhile."

"How?" Arthur asked, unable to fathom how such an event could have occurred. He remembered Merlin telling him that he would get him the liver of a pig but he didn't realise he would actually get him the heart of a dragon. Magic truly was a powerful and boundless force.

"It's….er….complicated," Merlin muttered and scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. He didn't really want to recall having the pulsing dragon heart in his hand or the raw insides of Arthur's warm chest. He shuddered as he recalled the viscous blood coating his fingers.

"Too complicated for me, a simple non-sorcerer to understand?" There was a touch of bitterness to Arthur's tone.

Merlin was quick to correct him. "Too complicated for anyone to understand, me included. Alizarin didn't even know if it would work but we had to try because…well, you were dying."

"I remember," Arthur paused, "Vaguely. I won't ask anything else as it's obvious that you don't want to tell me."

"Are you angry at me?" Merlin ventured, nervously.

"Well, you saved my life so probably not but is there anything else other than the dragon heart pumping in my chest that you want to inform me about now? Perhaps, you'd like to tell me that I have the kidney of a magical frog or the nose of a hag."

"Er…well, if we don't count the werewolf bite that you got on your backside then no." Merlin grinned and watched as Arthur immediately searched his body before realising that his friend wasn't serious.

"That was uncalled for, Merlin."

"Sorry," the boy said and looked sheepish. He turned away for a moment and Arthur got the uneasy sense that there was something else that the manservant was keeping from him. Although he didn't like being out of the loop, he knew that Merlin would tell him in time and that he would have to be patient.

Arthur clapped his filthy hands together and tried to move the subject on. He was still worried about Merlin's ribs and wanted to get back to Gaius as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he knew that that meant meeting his father at some point and he _definitely _wasn't looking forward to that – no matter how much determination he now had.

Glancing to his right, he saw that Tristram was soothing Llamrei and he hurried over, crouching down beside the fallen mare. To his shame, the prince realised he'd almost forgotten about his poor, loyal horse in all that had happened and felt terribly guilty. He had promised to return to her but he wasn't sure what he could do now. He had left the dislocated hip too long and the blood vessels to her leg had been compressed and the blood supply cut off, essentially killing all her nerves and muscles. It was damaged beyond repair and she would never have to use of it again. When this usually happened, they tended to kill the wounded animal to put it out of its misery; Arthur wasn't sure he could do that now.

With a thick lump in his throat, he stroked the horse's soft cheek and felt her move into his touch, seeking comfort. She must be in so much pain. "I'm sorry, Llamrei," he whispered. Gently, his fingers fondled her velvety grey ears and she nickered in appreciation, massive molten brown eyes staring up at him.

Merlin was standing a few feet behind him and he turned to the young man with hopeful eyes. The raven headed boy replied with a sympathetic but helpless expression. There was nothing that he could do for the brave animal either. He shook his head just once and Arthur sighed, deeply.

"Can we do anything for her?" Tristram asked, optimistically.

Arthur hated to crush his eager expression but there was _nothing _they could do. "No, her leg is too badly damaged."

"That doesn't mean she's going to die though, does it?" the knight snapped. "Its just one leg, she has three others. She can hobble. We had a dog when I was a child and he only had three legs after losing one to a badger in a hunting incident."

"Llamrei's a horse, Tristram," Arthur said, gently. He put comforting hand on the boy's shoulder but found it was shaken off immediately. "She can't be treated like a pet. She's a working animal and…"

"And what? Surely, you don't need to kill her?! You have enough horses and enough money to support one that doesn't do anything, don't you? It's not like you're losing your livelihood." He threw his lanky arms widely into the air. "Don't you think there's been enough death without you causing more?"

Initially surprised that Tristram felt so strongly about an animal that wasn't even his, Arthur now realised why he was reacting in such an irrational and protective way. After all the loss they'd experienced today, it was understandable for Tristram not to want to see anymore. It was overwhelming for the young knight. Arthur guessed he partly agreed with him but he wasn't sure that Llamrei would ever recover enough to get to her feet ever again, whether she had three or not. It wasn't that he wanted to kill her; it was just probably kinder and more humane to put the animal out of her misery before she had to live the rest of her life in pain and handicapped. Of course, he would like to imagine just leaving her in a nice grassy field to live out her days but that wasn't how the world went. For all the luck they'd had in this battle, there had to be a loss to balance it out. He was just grateful it wasn't Tristram or Merlin or Erec he was saying goodbye to.

The young blond haired knight was shuddering beside him, all the emotion from the day catching up with him and spilling out in hot, wet tears. Arthur would have reached out to reassure him but he didn't know what to say. For once, words had just failed him.

Therefore, he was eternally grateful when Merlin's light footsteps arrived beside them to take the weeping boy away. Once he was alone with the horse that had been in his life so fleetingly, Arthur felt he could allow his true feelings to show. His face twisted into one of pain and injustice as his forehead furrowed and his eyes shone.

"I _really _am sorry, Llamrei," Arthur said, gruffly, his words catching.

The silvery horse watched him with those soulful eyes as he carefully drew his dagger from his belt. She didn't look panicked. It was obvious she knew what was coming. Perhaps she just welcomed an end to the pain that she must be experiencing. A thought struck the golden haired prince and he felt especially terrible as he recalled how close Brecon and Llamrei had been. Even horses weren't allowed happy endings.

Once it was done, Arthur rejoined his friends with a sombre expression on his face. He wouldn't look at either of them as he said, "We need to return to Camelot. I've prolonged it long enough."

* * *

There was a peculiar mood hanging in the air as the remnants of Camelot's victorious army filed up the earthen road which led into the city. Arms swung limply by sides and eyes were downcast. They should be celebrating, rejoicing in their saving of the kingdom but that delight was hugely overshadowed by the death of all their comrades. It didn't feel so much of a triumph when there were fewer survivors than the deceased. Everyone was very subdued.

Prince Arthur had been offered a horse by one of his soldiers but he had declined out of respect for his lost mare. Therefore, everyone else was trudging on foot too, not wanting to be above their leader – a straggling bunch of grimy, battered knights and peasants. There were only about fifty of them left out of the five hundred that went.

The warlock was walking alongside the prince and the soldiers weren't at all sure how they felt about him. In the battle they hadn't spared him much thought because they had been involved in their own struggles and he _had _been on their side so they no qualms with him. Then afterwards, Prince Arthur had shadowed Merlin so none of them could get close to him even if they wanted to. They didn't know why the king's son was protecting a sorcerer but they didn't want to interfere. Besides, Merlin was a friend to several of them and they didn't want to think badly of him – quite a few of them were imagining that they hadn't seen anything.

"So," Merlin said, quietly, turning his body towards Arthur as he walked, "Do you know what we are going to say to your father or shall I just make a run for it now whilst I still have the chance?"

Arthur grimaced. "I don't know exactly but I have a rough idea."

"Somehow that doesn't fill me with much confidence," Merlin replied, carefully, "I don't want to offend you but not many people would bet their lives on a 'rough'idea."

"I _know _Merlin but I don't know exactly how to play things until I get there, do I?" Arthur snapped, raking fingers over his neck.

"I guess not," the manservant conceded. He looked away from Arthur and stared straight ahead, into the city.

People were beginning to pour out from among the houses and there were several cries of joy as they realised that the battle had been won and that they weren't being invaded. Camelot was safe and the Prince had returned – alive. Children scurried down the dusty road towards them, dazzling smiles spread across their tanned faces and their arms spread wide. A particularly little boy wobbled after his older companions, wispy white-blond hair blowing around his head, as he tried to keep up.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Arthur opened his own arms and allowed several of the peasant children to throw themselves into his chest. He didn't often show such displays of affection in public but now seemed like a good time for one. Small limbs wrapped themselves around him and he patted pointed shoulders and curly heads of hair. It did feel nice. A comforting boost before the difficult trial that would come. It reminded Arthur that he still had support in the city. He would certainly need it.

"Prince Arthur." A woman curtseyed to him.

"Well done, my lord," a man shouted.

"Congratulations!"

"Long live Prince Arthur!"

Beaming faces greeted met him wherever he looked and Arthur smiled back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin draw away from him, melting into the crowd of soldiers marching through the streets. He didn't want to be seen because everyone here knew that he was a sorcerer; many of them had seen him escape execution after all. Therefore it was better to maintain a low profile whilst everyone else received the credit and praise from the merry peasants. Everyone had a spring in their step by the time they reached the castle's main gate.

Arthur nodded at the guards who had remained at the castle (the last line of defence should they have failed) and strode through the towering archway into the courtyard. His heavy boots thumped on the cobbles beneath his feet and he felt every nodule, blister and bruise now that he was home. What he wouldn't give to slip off his boots and bathe his sore extremities. But there were much more important things to deal with than his bumps and blisters.

"You need to go and see Gaius," the prince hissed out of the side of his mouth at Merlin. The boy looked at him with clear blue eyes.

"I can't go, Arthur," the manservant replied, firmly. "Not now. We have to see your father."

"There's no point in me trying to save your life if you're just going to neglect your injuries and die anyway," Arthur pointed out, irritated.

"What can you do?" Merlin shrugged and pulled a blasé face.

Arthur growled, "Look after yourself would be a good place to start."

However, before he could force Merlin to do anything, the King had swept out of the castle and was pushing his way through the servants who had all stopped to stare at the top of the steps. Everyone scattered in his path like frightened ants. "Out of my way!" he shouted, fiercely.

He was tailed by an entourage of noblemen who had taken up residence in Camelot for the duration of the invasion. They all looked immensely relieved to see Arthur returning because it meant all their land and wealth was safe and they wouldn't have to change sides suddenly which could mean losing some of it. Arthur hated the rich and the cowards.

Uther stopped short when his granite eyes met Arthur's cobalt ones. He didn't look like he could quite believe his son had survived.

"Arthur," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion, "My son, you are alive."

"Indeed I am, Father," Arthur nodded. Although he was inclined to feel cold towards the silver-haired monarch because of all that he had done, he found that he couldn't be. After all, he too was extremely pleased to see his father again when he thought he was going to die on that godforsaken battlefield.

"And you are …." Uther paused, his gaze intense, "Victorious?"

"We are, Father," Arthur replied, a faint smile tracing his lips.

"I have never been more proud in all my life," the king stated, solemnly, and covered the last few strides between them. He caught Arthur's hand and clapped him in a manly handshake-hug – patting him in a congratulatory way on the back. Arthur felt a warm, fuzzy feeling like honey spread inside of him. "You will truly make a magnificent king, my son."

Nodding but aware that this good temper couldn't last; Arthur pulled out of the embrace and smiled in a slightly strained manner at his father. Uther looked back at him and his eyes clouded over when he saw the determined glint in Arthur's and the bold stance that he held. Drawing himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out like a proud bird, Uther surveyed his son.

His expression grave, the monarch asked, "Is there something you wish to discuss inside, Arthur?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, boldly.

"In private?" Uther queried.

"No, I wish for the entirety of my army and Merlin to be present."

"Merlin?" the king repeated, stunned. However, red hot anger soon replaced surprise on his wise face as he caught sight of the ash-haired boy among the soldiers. "The _sorcerer_!" he hissed with venom. He raised his hand, ready to summon the guards, but something in Arthur's expression stopped him in his tracks.

"I said," Arthur began slowly and calmly, "We discuss this inside. With Merlin present…and _alive_."

Uther surveyed him for a few seconds as if weighing up his options and then nodded. "Very well."

The king turned on his heel and with a swirl of his rich blue cloak, he headed back into the castle. His following of muttering noblemen trailed after him and Arthur resisted the urge to bang several of their stupid, selfish heads together. Instead, he looked over at Merlin and smiled, weakly. The manservant smiled back but it looked very forced and didn't quite reach his eyes with the usual familiar sparkle. Finally, the boy-warlock was realising the gravity of the situation.

As the Pendragon red crowd flowed into the hallway, Arthur found himself being accosted from the left hand staircase. The Lady Morgana had flown down the steps with amazing grace and agility in order to reach him. Her pale, slender fingers caught his arm and dug in to his muscle. He winced, surprised.

"Morgana?" he said, startled.

"You made it," she stated, simply, "I wasn't sure. I'm just so glad. Oh, thank the gods that I was wrong."

With that, she kissed him gently on a clean patch of his mud stained cheek and then stared at him for a moment with her cool green eyes. Her gaze flashed over to Merlin and he nodded at her – she smiled back though it looked slightly like she was baring her teeth in pain.

"Look after Merlin, Arthur," she told him with authority weighting her tone. "He can't die."

And then she was gone, vanishing up the staircase once more. Glancing up, Arthur saw that Gwen was waiting patiently at the top for her. His blue eyes met hers and he tried to convey his feelings towards her. She seemed to understand. Who knew, this could be the last time he saw her? After all, he couldn't completely dismiss the idea that he would survive this epic battle and then die at the hands of his grief-stricken, vengeful father. Hopefully, that wouldn't be the case but he was placing a lot on his father's love for him. If that turned out to be unfounded then they were truly finished and, considering he often doubted his father's feelings for him himself, Arthur's insides were like jelly.

The large oak doors to the Great Hall creaked open and Arthur stepped inside, followed by his men. Strangely, compared to how it usually looked, the long room didn't look at all homely or inviting. It was a cold and distant place that Arthur had a hard time relating to. He'd spent many hours in this space and yet it all seemed foreign to him, especially with the gathering of gentry at the opposite end. They were like a gaggle of vultures looking for carcasses to pick.

King Uther Pendragon sat on his throne with an unreadable expression on his face. It was like a mask of stone. When he truly wanted to, the king could be an imposing and petrifying figure. Arthur was reminded of the deities that resided in temples – surveying everything and then unleashing their immense, unparalleled power when they saw fit. He gulped uneasily. The crowd behind him shifted awkwardly.

He stepped into the centre of the room.

"Father," he addressed the king. "Noblemen," he continued and turned to look at them, keeping the scathing tone out of his voice, "And soldiers of the realm. We all know the reason we are gathered in this hall today and that is to decide the fate of the boy-sorcerer, Merlin."

"Why 'fate'?" Arthur heard Merlin mutter under his breath to himself. "Surely, future would have been a nicer word?" The prince forced back a grin.

"There is no decision to be made!" a nobleman called out, "He should be executed where he stands before he can do any evil to us."

"_Silence_," Uther commanded before Arthur had a chance to reply. There was no arguing with his tone. "Listen to my son."

_Well, he hasn't disowned me yet, _Arthur thought, dryly as he scrutinised his father's face. Unfortunately, the king was very adept at keeping a neutral expression and the prince could garner no indication of his opinions from his face.

"Thank you, my lord," Arthur bowed slightly to him. "As I was saying, Merlin's _future_ shall be determined here and now but no executions shall be made until it has been decided."

"Gee, thanks," Merlin murmured.

"No problem," Arthur breathed back, just as quietly so no one else heard before continuing in a bold voice, "I shall be standing on the side of the warlock. What do you say to _that_, my lords?"

**Take that, beeee-atches! **

**That wasn't directed at you guys by the way. Please review!**


	43. Fighting for Freedom

**Author's Note - Thank you very, very much for all the wonderful reviews! I can't believe this is the penultimate chapter. I hope it lives up to expectations. It was very hard to write, hence the fact it took so long for me to update. Sorry about that. I hope it has the right amount of anger, angst, humour and everything else. Please review with constructive criticism. **

Uther's face was purpling. It would have been amusing had it not signalled an explosion of great magnitude. He was nearing the complexion of a ripe plum. Grey eyes bulged above stained cheeks and his vein throbbed in his temple like some crazed worm had taken up residence beneath his skin. It was both disgusting and entrancing – Merlin couldn't take his eyes off it. However, that may have been more to do with the fact that he didn't want to see the livid expression contorting the rest of the King's usually calm features. Instead, he listened to the rapidly thudding heart in his chest and focussed on looking nowhere but 'the vein'.

Just a couple of paces in front of him stood Arthur, his back as straight as a board and his chin held high in defiance. Merlin didn't think he'd ever taken up a stance in front of his father in all his life. It was both rebellious and taunting at the same time; as if tempting Uther to make a move. In Merlin's humble opinion, he _really _didn't think that was a good idea. His mother always told him that you shouldn't play with fire or you'd get burnt. Well, Arthur was going one step further and dancing among the flames.

"Arthur!" the king finally managed to hiss through clenched teeth. They were so tightly jammed together that it looked like his jaw was about to burst out of his face. The whites of his knuckles shone through the reddened skin on his fists and Merlin briefly wondered whether, if Uther put enough weight behind it, the king could break his neck with a quick, well aimed punch. Probably. "What is the _meaning _of this foolishness?"

"Father," Arthur said, calmly, and Merlin had to admire him for that, "I am standing up for Merlin against you."

"You are choosing to support _sorcery_," he spat the word, droplets of water flying like splinters of glass through the shaft of light that came through the tall windows, "over the safety of the kingdom? You would betray me for a magic-user?"

Fire flashed in Uther's eyes. Merlin could have sworn he was beginning to steam.

"I am not supporting sorcery, no," Arthur replied, almost casually. There was a sharp intake of breath across the room. Uther looked relieved but that expression was wiped clean off his face as the prince continued, "I am supporting _Merlin_ as he is a friend and powerful ally."

"Sorcerers aren't friends, Arthur. Have you learnt _nothing_? They are treacherous and malevolent. They seek to undo you and I!"

"Not Merlin," came the firm reply.

There was a muttering that struck up on both sides of the room, behind the firm followers of Uther and the witnesses of Arthur. Such an emphatic statement had thrown them, especially when it came from the Crown Prince of Camelot himself who had just won the war against Vortigern. Were they loyal to him or the King? Father and son had their undivided attention now.

"_Not Merlin?_!" Uther let out a derisive laugh and threw his arms into the air as if overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of the sentiment. "And why _exactly _is your Merlin any different from all the sorcerers I've ever met? What's so special about him?"

Arthur contemplated his father with cold eyes, not liking the mocking tone of his voice. He was fairly certain he'd had this conversation with Uther before he went to war but now the monarch had reverted back to his original viewpoint; most likely because he had so much support in the room. He wasn't even allowing Arthur a chance to give his side of the story. "He was the reason that we won the battle against Vortigern." The watching gentry gasped but the prince ignored their melodramatics. "If he hadn't been there then we would have surely lost and Camelot would have been destroyed."

"Is this true?" Uther turned immediately to the soldiers standing behind Arthur.

At first none of them reacted, too afraid of what his reaction might be but then Tristram nodded vehemently – his face still maintaining the bluish tinge that he'd got from being petrified. After this definitive gesture, everyone else followed suit. Yes, they had all seen Merlin performing impossible and yet awe-inspiring feats. They had seen him throw fire balls and break up the earth and ride upon crimson dragons like a valiant knight of the heavens. He had indeed saved them all.

The king scrutinised each of them individually with narrowed eyes and then frowned, sitting back in his chair. "It would seem that Merlin performing magic in the battle is an indisputable fact and therefore…we have all the more reason to destroy him. His crime of sorcery is undeniable."

Some of the knights looked rather bewildered by this statement from their monarch. Hadn't they just admitted to seeing them help them and be instrumental in winning the war? Surely that meant he was on their side? A lot of unhappy murmuring began and Uther sensed the tide turning.

He was up on his feet in an instant and pointed an accusatory finger at Merlin.

"The ban on sorcery is the law and the law _cannot _be broken." Then he turned to glare at his son. "You have told me time and time again, Arthur, that the law applies to everyone so why should now be anything different?"

Arthur growled deep in his throat. "Because an innocent man's life is in jeopardy."

"As far as I can see, he is as guilty as he can be. We have fifty witnesses saying so as you've so kindly proven."

Sensing that his father was trying to close the net on them, Arthur unconsciously took a step backwards and stood in front of Merlin. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he tried to think of other ways in which to get them out of this predicament. His father was deliberately backing him into a corner and making a point of the fact that _he _was king and therefore _he _had the power. It was like he was proving he was the alpha male. What annoyed Arthur was that he _knew _that Uther was higher than him and he didn't have any desire to take the position from his father until he had passed on – he certainly wasn't ready to rule Camelot yet. Yet Uther was still threatened. All Arthur wanted was to save Merlin's life. He hadn't even moved onto Alizarin yet but if he could solve this problem then he wasn't going to be able to deal with another.

"And we have fifty witnesses saying that he was one _our _side."

"That may be but-"

"But _nothing_," Arthur interrupted, furiously. The muscle in his jaw twitched and he shifted his weight forward unconsciously, moving to the offensive once more. "You are refusing to see what's right in front of you and are allowing your dated prejudices to influence your frankly ridiculous views."

"Don't you dare take that tone with me, Arthur," Uther replied, angrily.

Arthur spluttered, his eyebrows vanishing into his hairline. "Don't _you _dare treat me like a child and don't you dare act like my father one moment and then the cold-faced murderer who wants to kill my friend the next. You can't be _both_."

The king looked shocked by that statement and the words which he had been about to say froze on his lips. His steel eyes softened for a second and Arthur almost believed that he was going to change his mind; that he would see sense. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn't afford to be that naïve and he was right. Geed by a sudden shout of "Its _still _sorcery", Uther's tough mask of anger reappeared. The moment of vulnerability was gone.

Arthur knew that he needed to get it back. The only way that he'd ever broken his father's impenetrable armour was to bring up his mother. That seemed to be his Achilles heel. Therefore, did he have any choice but to bring it up again? There didn't seem to be many other options. He didn't like stooping to such low levels of persuasion but he couldn't let Merlin die because of his stupid pride; he'd learnt that before at the hands of Anhorra. He had to put his best friend first.

Squaring his shoulders, the golden haired prince glared at his father and said, "Would my mother have condemned a blameless man for the crime of merely _living_?"

Perhaps he had gone too far, Arthur thought ephemerally, as a darkness fell over his father's face.

"This has _nothing_." Uther sliced with his hand. "To do with _Ygraine_. She is innocent in all of this. She died a long time ago as you well know." There was a flash of remembrance in his father's eyes, as sharp and fleeting as a splinter of ice-glass caught in the light, and Arthur could have sworn that a triumphant smile twitched his father's lips. "Ygraine," he continued, slowly now, almost deliberately, "Died at the hands of a sorcerer."

"What?!" Arthur yelped, just as Merlin hissed the same word through his teeth. "You said she died in childbirth."

"I lied," Uther replied, simply, "_Nimueh_ killed her."

_No. No. NO. _Merlin's eyes had widened as he understood exactly where this was going. The horrifying realisation hit him like a battering ram; it knocked the air from his lungs. He couldn't force any words out.

"I never told you, Arthur," Uther said, softly, "Because I thought it would cloud your judgement just as much as mine but I think it's important for you to know now. Nimueh was _my _friend and she was your mother's _best_ friend." He glared, pointedly, at Merlin who stared at him with fierce determination. "We trusted her and she betrayed us. All that time she had been lying to us; manipulating us. She wanted to destroy Camelot. That's why I have never trusted another sorcerer since. Your Merlin will be _exactly _the same, Arthur, don't you see?" The king, strangely, ended his speech on a pleading note.

Arthur choked.

"He's _lying_!" Merlin shouted, furiously, forcing much needed oxygen back into his chest.

Arthur glanced at him with wild, confused eyes, like an animal.

"Don't you remember," the manservant begged, catching his friend's tense arm in his long fingers, "what Morgause showed you? What your mother told you? Nimueh only did what your father ordered. He betrayed _her_."

"But that was _all _a _lie _wasn't it, Merlin?" Uther cut in, voice as smooth as silk. "You said so yourself."

Even more muttering struck up at both ends of the elegant hall; anxious, bewildered and suspicious tones blending together in disharmony. Several gazes raked the main trio standing in the centre of the room: the poker-faced king, the valiant prince and the enigmatic boy-warlock. Their heated conversation was difficult to keep up with and therefore almost impossible to form an opinion on but it seemed as if Queen Ygraine's death had been less than normal. That was news to the kingdom – certainly. Even the king's own courtiers looked shocked.

"Arthur," Merlin's hoarse voice, edged with panic, was loud in the tense quiet that had befallen the Great Hall, "You _have _to believe me when I say that what your father says is untrue."

It was as if the prince wasn't actually seeing him; he was staring at him but there was no focus, no spark behind the deadened eyes. Not for the first time, Merlin really wished he knew a spell that meant he could read minds. He'd read about them but they were so complicated – and dangerous – that he'd yet to perfect them. In fact, he didn't even have a willing participant to be at the receiving end. Gaius had been very uncooperative. "You're not messing around in _my _head, Merlin," he stated, firmly, "Even I don't want to be there sometimes." Although he didn't really know what his mentor's cryptic words meant and was just more curious, Merlin didn't pursue the matter.

"But you did say," Arthur said, painfully slowly.

The cogs were turning in the prince's head and Merlin didn't know whether they would mesh in his favour. All he knew was that he had to get Arthur and the entire assembly to believe him; even Uther. It was time for him to stop letting Arthur talk for him and be more proactive in saving his own life.

"Sire," he began, his voice surprisingly strong considering how nervous he was. He swallowed, uncomfortably and felt his Adam's apple bob, precariously. Moving forward, away from the protection of Arthur and the relative safety of the soldiers, Merlin put himself, unaccompanied, in the middle of the room. He was neither with Arthur nor with Uther.

A lone island.

He would have to do this by himself and that was the way it should be. Staring, intensely, into Uther's eyes, Merlin puffed out his slender chest and tried to appear bigger and braver than he felt. He recalled Arthur's stance and attempted to emulate it but he wasn't sure how effective it would be – he didn't really have the muscles for it. Realising that he was psyching himself out by distracting himself with trivial physical flaws, Merlin refocused on the stern statue that was the king and nodded resolutely to himself.

"Sire," he started again, "I have lived my entire life through your campaign against sorcerers. As a child, my mother shielded me from her friends and isolated herself because I could not control the powers that I was _born with_. Fortunately, when I was older I could maintain the secret myself and relieve some of the burden she was unfairly given. Under your rules, she should be executed for merely caring for her own son."

Uther interrupted his flow with an indeterminable sound. The lines on his face deepened in thought as he contemplated the gangly adolescent standing in front of him; addressing him almost as an equal. He had to admit the simple serving boy did have courage that he hadn't seen before in a peasant and an intelligence that he would never have expected considering his background. Still contemplating Merlin, he allowed him to continue.

"She sent me to my uncle when my powers became noticeable." As he spoke, Merlin spared at thought for the old physician and wondered where he was. He hoped that he could see him again.

"Your uncle being Gaius?" the king cut in.

"Yes," Merlin nodded but was reluctant to implicate his relative too much, "He has been kind to me but is innocent in all of this." A lie not far from the truth.

"I don't understand," a voice called out. Everyone turned; it came from a sour faced noble. "You came to Camelot in order to escape detection for your despicable magic? But you were closer to the king."

"And then I became manservant to the prince – it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me either but that's how things panned out," Merlin retorted with a wry smile.

"He was trying to kill Prince Arthur!" another person shouted, fiercely.

"And, of course, that would make sense if I had not been given the job for saving the prince's life in the first place." Merlin glanced at Uther and saw that he had nodded slightly in agreement. Now everyone knew his word was true. He continued, "So there I was, serving an arrogant fool who happened to be the most skilled swordsman in the land and who would have killed me had he known my true identity, and yet I remained."

"Why?" someone called but rather than angry they sounded genuinely interested. It was one of the knights.

Merlin rubbed his jaw, ruefully. "Because somebody told me it was my destiny and," he shrugged, "I believed them." There was silence so the manservant carried on, still keeping a wary eye on the king. "I have saved Prince Arthur's life more times than I can count." There was a muffled snort from behind him: Segwarides.

"When? How?" Astonishingly, Merlin had the audience's rapt attention – even the gentry were staring at him with undisguised curiosity.

Smoothly, he lifted his fingers and began counting them off. "I saved him that first time, from the dagger. Then there were the snakes in the shield of Valiant in that tournament and the Avank. Then I told him about the poison in the chalice." He grimaced. "And then you, sire, made me drink it. I saved him on the quest that he undertook to save me, isn't that ironic? I gave Sir Lancelot the power to destroy the griffin and I saved your life, my lord, from Edwin. Once again, I saved Arthur because of his infatuation with a pretty woman who wanted to kill him and forged him a sword worthy of killing the dead. That same sword is in his scabbard right now having slain the majority of the magical beings in the battle against Vortigern." Merlin didn't add the fact it had almost killed _Arthur_; the king didn't need to know that – it would open up a whole new can of worms what with the dragon heart and everything.

"I used that sword," Uther suddenly said. Merlin wasn't sure whether he could detect disgust in his tone or not. It just seemed to be a statement of fact.

"And you survived because of it," the warlock nodded, sagely, "Do you remember what you said to me in the armoury before the fight?" Uther shook his head, slowly.

"You've shown the most extraordinary loyalty…beyond the line of duty," Merlin quoted, carefully, "That's what you said, exactly those words. I remember because I honestly felt proud. I have never done anything to harm Arthur and _never _will. I would die before I put his life in danger – in fact, I _did _bargain my own life for his." His words were said with vehemence and no one seemed ready to contradict him. "Even you, my lord, recognised my faithfulness towards your son. How could you think I would harm him now?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin saw that Arthur was moving out of his isotonic state. His eyes were shining once more and they caught Merlin's, brimming with resolve. The manservant didn't know who he'd chosen to believe and how that would affect his overall decision but they were about to find out.

"Merlin," he said, softly, "_When _exactly did you bargain your own life for mine because I can't believe you would be so bloody stupid as to do that?"

Merlin looked sheepish. "When you were hurt by the Questing Beast, I went to a place called the Isle of the Blessed and promised to give my life so long as you could live." He decided to leave out the part about his mother and Gaius.

"But you're not dead so how-"

"I killed Nimueh," Merlin replied, simply, "Her life in exchange for yours. A worthy deal, don't you think?" He was addressing this last part to King Uther, almost challenging him to say otherwise.

"You are a complete idiot," Arthur choked, disbelievingly. "You could have _died_."

"Yes, well that _was _sort of the point," Merlin said, sarcastically.

This exchange was being observed by the whole gathering and yet neither of them seemed to care: Arthur was too astounded by his friend's absolute loyalty to him and Merlin was just completely and utterly relieved that whatever decision Arthur had come to, it hadn't affected their relationship.

"You killed Nimueh?" Uther interrupted them, hoarsely.

Merlin turned back to him. "Of course I did. She _was _an evil sorcerer that was trying to kill Arthur. I'm on _your _side," he said, emphatically, "If you'll allow me to be."

The king seemed at a loss for words, he quivered, the usually hard exterior showing visible cracks. He knotted and unknotted his hands, uneasily. The fact that Nimueh – the cause of all this - was dead, put a slightly new slant on things. She was the one he held responsible for his wife's untimely death; the pinnacle of hate and sorcery combined. With her gone….what did that mean? Obviously, there were still bound to be vengeful and generally power hungry sorcerers out there wanting to kill him but here he had one who'd be unwaveringly loyal and defeated so many of his enemies without even being asked. Surely, it would make sense to utilise such a gift and not view it as a curse? He's forgiven people of sorcery before – just a select few – Gaius to name one. This was different though as Merlin couldn't just _stop _being magical; it was in his blood. However, the fact that his son felt so strongly about the boy leaned him towards a side that he'd never even contemplated before; one he didn't even know it existed.

This battle with Vortigern had been an eye opener and he knew it. It highlighted just how weak they were against magical kingdoms. If he wasn't careful then he would lose everything he had. If he was being entirely pragmatic about the whole affair then he _needed _Merlin.

And he also needed Merlin to keep his mouth shut about his part to play in his wife's death otherwise he would lose his son forever.

"I have come to a decision," Uther suddenly declared to the semi-silent room. He lifted his chin and addressed the assembly with strength and dignity. "I have decided that Merlin shall be granted clemency and that his life will be spared."

Arthur's face broke into a massive grin and he punched Merlin joyfully on the arm. Merlin didn't even flinch, his gaze focused on the king so he could hear the rest of his decision.

"And, for a trial period, he will be allowed to remain in the castle as Prince Arthur's personal bodyguard."

"Bodyguard?! _What_?" Arthur spluttered in shock. "I don't need a _bodyguard_!"

"Think of it more as a guardian, Arthur," Uther stated, unmoved by his son's outrage, "Because we need to make sure that you are safe from all threats: magic or otherwise. Sword and sinew seems to be not enough anymore."

"But…"

"Arthur, there's no need to get too worked up," Merlin smiled, "If you think about it, that's what I was doing before anyway: saving your life. Just now I'll get more credit."

"Yes," the golden haired prince growled, clouting the boy over the head, "But before you were obliged to wash my socks as well."

Grinning madly at his friend and master, Merlin couldn't help but feel that this had turned out much better than he could ever have hoped. Yes, he'd lived a life of secrecy and fear. Yes, he'd endured being an underappreciated manservant. Yes, he'd suffered a multitude of physical injuries and many injustices. And yes, he'd almost been executed when Uther found out the first time but still, it had worked out in the end. Perhaps, it really was his destiny to guard Arthur until he became king.

"My lord." One of the nobles stepped forward. "Where does the law stand on sorcery now?"

The king considered him for a moment with those stern grey eyes. "It remains unchanged for the moment but will be reconsidered after this trial period and several meetings. That is all. You may now leave."

"But Father," Arthur interrupted, abruptly, "We have not resolved the issue of my mother's death." His tone was sharp.

Uther looked at him and then stared, pointedly, at Merlin for a few seconds before saying, finally, "Your mother's death was an unfortunate tragedy and no one was to blame – least of all yourself. I got caught up in the moment. I'm sorry, Arthur."

Nodding, although not_ entirely _placated, the prince turned, placing a reassuring if slightly commandeering arm around his slender friend, and left the Great Hall. The hollow thudding of booted feet on wooden floor accompanied them from the room as the assembly also departed. There were still plenty of murmurings but for the most part, everyone seemed to stand by the king's slightly peculiar decision. No one was really going to argue with Uther Pendragon. They all went their separate ways.

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked, trying to extricate himself from Arthur's iron grip.

"I am taking _you _directly to Gaius for some much needed attention where you will remain for the next few days until you are entirely fixed and he says you can leave. And there will be no arguments."

"But-"

"Ah, what did I just say?"

"No arguments," Merlin repeated, dejectedly.

"Good, I'm glad I can still get you to listen to me sometimes," Arthur smiled. His heart felt lighter than it had in months.

Suddenly, Merlin turned to look at him with sparkling eyes. "But who will make sure you're safe whilst I'm tucked up in bed? The king wouldn't like your bodyguard not doing his job of keeping his helpless heir out of trouble, would he?" His tone was mockingly serious.

"Shut it, you."


	44. The End

"Ow."

A pause.

"Ooow! That really hurt."

"Well, don't squirm so much and it will be over sooner," Gaius reprimanded, his experienced hands skimming deftly across his ward's damaged chest. Although, at first, he had been astounded and sickened by the mirage of bruises that blackened his nephew's torso, he had shifted seamlessly into his professional mode and was now treating the boy for the accumulation of injuries. The list was pretty lengthy.

"I wouldn't squirm if you didn't keep _poking _me!" Merlin whined before hissing through his teeth as Gaius caught another tender patch of skin. "_Ow_!"

"Merlin, considering how much of your body is covered in bruises, you can hardly blame me for catching one or two. I don't have an undamaged bit of skin to work with anywhere." The physician's tone was curt but at the same time sympathetic. He honestly did care about his ward's pain. "Let me just finish wrapping these ribs and then we'll be done."

"Does that mean I can go out?"

"No, that means you can go and lie in your bed and not get up until I say so. You've practically run your poor body into the ground and it will need a time to rest and recuperate."

"But I need to fulfil my new post," Merlin protested, mildly.

Gaius grumbled. "I don't give two hoots about that post until you're better."

"That _post _is the only thing keeping my neck on my shoulders, Gaius."

"Don't talk in that way," the physician said, sharply, his flinty blue eyes catching Merlin's, "You _are _lucky to be alive but I'd rather keep you that way if you don't mind. I'm not going to get you back only to lose you again." He harrumphed to himself and then busied himself tucking the loose end of the bandages around his nephew's chest in.

"I didn't know you felt that much for me, Gaius," Merlin grinned, only to have that grin knocked off his face by a cuff to his ear. "_Hey_, ow! What was that for? I thought I was an invalid?"

"You deserved it for your comments. Of course I care for you, you stupid boy." There was a sternness to Gaius' usually soft expression and Merlin sensed how much this all had affected him. It couldn't have been easy to have the closest person to you missing for months and then for them to return home and be sentenced to death – almost twice. Whereas Merlin was trying to laugh everything off because that was his way of coping, Gaius was becoming very protective. "Now, off to bed with you unless you want me to get Arthur in here. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to put you _forcibly _into your room."

Merlin nodded once, realising he shouldn't argue with his concerned uncle when he would undoubtedly know best. "All right," he sighed, slouching to his feet. He began plodding across the room before turning to look back over his shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Gaius." He paused and said, seriously, "I wasn't sure if I would get the chance. Oh, and thanks for this." Gesturing briefly at his patched up body, Merlin smiled and then carried on up the steps to his room.

Once the raven haired boy had vanished from sight, the old physician allowed the mask to slip and he felt his knees buckle as he collapsed into his worn chair; the hard wood dug into his back. Breathing out, heavily, he considered all that had happened in the past few days. It had certainly been a week to remember. He didn't think he'd ever been so scared in all his life as when he discovered that Uther knew about Merlin's magic and was sentencing him to death. That fear and distress was replaced with joy when the boy escaped and then a feeling of loss at the prospect that he may never see him again. And then he'd returned with the army and faced the king to fight for his survival. When Gaius had tried to enter, he hadn't been allowed in and therefore had to spend the entire meeting in his chambers fretting. He had attempted to distract himself but everything reminded him of Merlin and therefore he waited in limbo, hoping the outcome of the negotiations would be good.

And then Merlin had stepped through his door, battered and exhausted and partially supported by an assertive Arthur. It had been a miracle and Gaius had been ecstatic. However, the boy's physical state had brought the doctor down to earth with an unpleasant jolt.

Merlin was practically emaciated; his skin was stretched like an over-tightened drum and his cheekbones stood out like two snowy peeks on his face. His eyes, although bright themselves, were shadowed with inky circles and his hair didn't look like it had been washed in weeks. Then there were his actual injuries: the scar that slashed a pink line across the plane of his cheek, aging him merely by being there; the numerous bumps and swellings that littered the crown of his head; the badly broken ribs which had been jolted around and increased the bruising of his chest tenfold and the scars around his wrists which were the only clues that Gaius had to what hardship Merlin had experienced whilst on the quest. He could only guess at the exact cause.

It would take a lot to get the boy back to his former self but with time and effort, Gaius was sure that he and Merlin's friends could manage it.

There was a sudden knock on the door and it creaked open to allow a golden haired head to poke through the gap. Arthur's blue eyes met the physician's and he smiled before pushing the door open all the way and stepping into the room. "Is it all right….?" he asked just to check and received a nod in return.

"Of course, Arthur, when have I ever denied you access to my chambers?"

"Never." The prince ducked his head ruefully. "I just came to see how Merlin is?"

"Have you fed yourself, like I asked?" Gaius replied, sternly, evading to previous question.

"Yes, I don't think I've ever eaten so much in my life," Arthur admitted, unconsciously running a hand over his stomach and grinning. "I think I'll regret it though when I get indigestion."

Gaius smiled. "Well, I'm glad you did because you were looking terribly pale and were very weak. If I hadn't known better then I would have said you had the symptoms of blood loss." As he spoke, the old man stood up and began bumbling around his chambers, sorting out his desk by collecting the various strewn bottles and shuffling papers that were collecting dust. Therefore, he missed the expression of astonishment that passed over Arthur's face and by the time he looked up the prince had collected himself.

"Yes, I guess it was just hunger," Arthur shrugged, nonchalantly, "Battles tend to take a lot out of you."

"You don't have any injuries you're neglecting to tell me about do you, Arthur?" Gaius paused to scrutinise him. "Because if you don't tell me then…"

"I know, Gaius, 'its worse to keep it to myself', you've told me a hundred times," Arthur replied, sighing, "I'm just tired."

"Hmm."

"Anyway, how's Merlin?"

"In bed."

"Oh," Arthur said, his eyes flickering over to the small wooden door that led to Merlin's poky and yet strangely cosy room. Gaius followed his lingering gaze and smiled softly at the look of concern etched as clearly as a manuscript on the prince's angular face. Surprisingly, the physician couldn't remember the youth ever being so readable – usually he kept everything possible to himself – and concluded it must be something to do with the fact it was Merlin; he seemed to make everyone go soft inside. Even the King.

"You can check on him if you want," Gaius encouraged, gently, his signature eyebrow raised.

Arthur flushed, obviously embarrassed at being caught in the act of caring too much for his friend. "I'll….er….just….go in for a minute." Scratching the back of his head in a very Merlin-esque manner, the tall man strode across the length of the room and lightly leapt up the steps into the manservant's room. Just as he was about to turn the door handle Gaius spoke.

"Oh, and Arthur," the old man began and the prince spun round, cobalt gaze trained on him, "I just want to thank you for standing by Merlin despite everything."

"It was nothing," Arthur said, a flush blossomed on his neck.

"I know you risked a lot. Not a lot of noblemen your age would stand up to their fathers for a peasant, especially not if their father was the king. You are a very brave and loyal friend for Merlin to have found and I thank the gods for that."

Arthur smiled, kindly. "I could say the same about him," he said before vanishing into the depths of the small room.

Merlin was sprawled out on his too small bed like an exhausted puppy, limbs lay where they had fallen, hanging over the sides and his face was buried in his pillow in a way that the prince couldn't believe was comfortable or safe. He looked like he was suffocating himself. Only a gentle snoring stopped Arthur's abrupt anxiety and he let a small smile grace his lips before tentatively walked over to the sleeping manservant and gently moving his head to one side. That was better. He moved onto the boy's gangly appendages, placing them one by one in comfortable, safe positions. It was like arranging one of Morgana's dolls – not that he'd _ever _done that.

Pleased with his handiwork and the fact that his friend was in a very, very deep sleep so that his body would get the rest it needed, Arthur ran a weary hand through his golden locks and then turned to leave, just sparing one last glance over his shoulder to check he wasn't imagining the peace with which Merlin now slept. He was like a little boy, shattered after a massive adventure which he probably shouldn't have come out of alive. The prince still couldn't believe that their argument with his father _had_ actually happened. He would probably have to wait until tomorrow morning until he properly believed that was the truth as, right now, this felt like some crazy dream.

With all his bones suddenly feeling like lead weights, Arthur turned and left the room, saying a quick goodbye to Gaius on his way out. By the time he got back to his own chambers, he merely fell onto the welcoming arms of his bed and was immediately asleep, revelling in the comfort and warmth that his mattress and feathered pillows provided him with.

* * *

_Three weeks later…_

The sky was a beautiful cyan blue that reminded Merlin of the duck eggs that he used to look after by the pond near Ealdor, nestled among the ferns and rushes. Every day he would skip down to check on them and their mother, sometimes bringing scraps of food that he wouldn't eat for breakfast for her as she looked half starved. Of course, it didn't do much for _his_ nutrition but when the ducklings were born it was all worth it. They were little, fluffy bundles with legs – absolutely adorable and each with amusing personalities of their own. His favourite he named 'Puddle' as he always managed to get the wettest. He supposed that's where his penchant for naming animals began.

It was summer now and that meant it was almost a year since they set out on that incredible quest. Looking back, he couldn't quite believe what they had been through. When he had begun the expedition he had been a servant, an irritating nobody that only Arthur put up with and at the end of it, well, he had three great new friends and a true best friend in Arthur – _and _everybody knew he was a warlock. It was quite a turnaround.

The pastures were covered in beautiful wildflowers, like the gods had decided to lay down a new brightly coloured rug for a few months to add some variety, and they were teeming with livestock from massive dairy cows to skinny, shorn sheep. Among the animals ran children, alive with the energy given to them by the endless sunny days, playing games and having fun. They had to make the most of the gorgeous weather before the hard work of harvest season came and then the cold harshness of winter. Summer was a time of reasonable rest and relaxation because, for quite a lot of the days, people couldn't work because of the heat. Sometimes the adults would even join the frolicking children, teaching them to climb trees and swim in the lake, before bringing them home to pass out at the end of the day; exhausted.

Such a joyful child was skipping among the large daisies now, her chestnut tresses flowing out behind her and her sun-browned skin glowing as she swung her slender arms. She was dressed in a simple green sundress and looked like one of the fairies that Merlin had read about in Gaius' old books: tiny and perfect. Behind her stood a tall, dark-haired figure with kind greyish-blue eyes. His beard was flecked silver. Erec and Olwyn; the perfect father and daughter. No one would ever guess that the nobleman was a former warrior considering the kindness which emanated off him and no one would ever notice his impediment unless they looked closely. His lack of a hand barely seemed to affect him at all – he could still pick his little girl up and swing her round like a dandelion head caught in the wind.

Leaving the Knights of Camelot had definitely been the right choice for Erec, especially as his wife stood a few paces behind, her stomach filled with the child they were expecting but only Merlin could sense this early. They truly were a beautiful family and Merlin couldn't help feel a pang of jealousy at their happiness. He hoped for that one day himself.

"Oi, blockhead, stop day-dreaming."

A familiar hand caught the side of Merlin's head. He winced instinctively and turned to face his assailant.

"Do you _mind_?" he said, mock-seriously, "I'm surprised I don't have permanent brain damage considering how many times you hit me."

"_Mer_lin, your brain damage _is _permanent, but I'm afraid that has nothing to with me, it's how you were born. Either that or Hunith dropped you on your head as a child." Arthur grinned and ruffled his friend's raven hair roughly before lying back on the grassy knoll they were sitting on.

"If I have permanent brain-damage then you have permanent 'I'm a complete prat' disease," Merlin retorted. Arthur snorted, noisily, wriggling in the long grass to create himself a comfortable position.

"I didn't know that even existed, Merlin. Did you consult Gaius on that one?"

"It's in a book that you can't read so you'll never know, will you?"

"I guess not." Arthur paused and looked at the smaller man, thoughtfully. The warlock shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"What?" he asked, defensively.

"That scar really doesn't suit you," the prince replied, staring at the offending line across his friend's cheek. "It makes you look like a knight and like you actually know how to fight which, of course, you don't."

"Why would I need to fight when I've got magic?" Merlin shrugged, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers. The rest of his body had healed pretty well and he had put on a lot of weight thanks to both Gwen and Arthur plying him with various types of food at any given moment. It was only the scar on his cheek and the scars around his wrists that remained. "Besides, I don't think _anyone _could ever mistake me for a knight of Camelot, scar or not, because I don't look a thing like one."

"Yeah," Arthur smirked, "You're right. You look more like newly born colt with sunburn."

"Colts can't get sunburn," Merlin replied, abruptly before snapping his mouth shut as he realised what his master was implying. "Oh damn!"

"You have nicely reddened ears, if I do say so myself." The prince was now rolling around laughing as Merlin scrambled to his feet and feebly attempted to cover his large ears with his hands before realising that his hands too were looking raw.

"Bloody hell, Arthur!" he yelped, looking at his pink body, "You could have warned me sooner!"

"Sorry, I only just noticed," the prince lied, poorly, still guffawing loudly.

"You are a royal prat," Merlin exclaimed, kicking Arthur's exposed side with the toe of his boot, feeling a perverse pleasure when the other men let out an oomph of pain.

"Hey! What was that for? You're meant to be my bodyguard, not my attacker. What happened to my safety is priority?"

"That _was _for your safety," Merlin replied, smartly, "You see, if I'd not done that then I would have done something much, much worse. Trust me; it's the lesser of two evils."

With a malicious grin, the warlock set off at a run across the meadow, aware that the prince would be leaping to his feet in order to give chase. Fortunately, he had a little thing called magic on his side and he was certainly planning to use it to even up the odds. His laughter tailing behind his swiftly retreating body, Merlin sprinted down the hill into the woods and his eyes flashed ochre, increasing the gap.

"No magic, Merlin! That's cheating! You filthy swine!" Arthur's angry voice called from behind him but Merlin wasn't listening, he was too busy hurdling logs and bushes at high speed. He only came to a stop when he collided with something solid, like a tree trunk.

"I see your coordination and awareness skills haven't improved much, have they?" A voice rumbled above his head and the warlock looked up to see Alizarin staring down at him with bright, golden eyes. The dragon frowned. "Why are you so red, Merlin? Have you been _bathing _in a boiling pot?"

"Don't even start," Merlin groaned, running a bony hand over his ears, embarrassedly and turning his face away, "Its sunburn."

"Ah," Alizarin said, as if he knew what it was like to experience such a thing when he clearly didn't. "That is unfortunate."

"You don't say," the boy-warlock sighed and perched himself on a low slung tree branch. His legs dangled below him, brushing the dry earth. Casually, he tapped the thick, rough trunk beside him with long fingers and watched as tiny sparks flew onto the bark, engraving swirling patterns. He looked up at the dragon and saw that the beast had his luminous gaze trained on the careless spell.

Ali's leathery lip curled. "I guess things must have gone well then, considering you're still alive?"

Merlin grinned. "You could say that. Then again, I'm lumbered with the responsibility of being Arthur's _personal _bodyguard which means I have to spend practically every waking moment with him." He paused. "And, come to think of it, every other moment as well. Uther wants me by his side constantly as he fears retribution for destroying Vortigern's army of sorcerers."

"I thought you generally saved Arthur's live beforehand without any qualms?" the dragon stated, sagely, flicking his long tail.

"Well yes but…." Merlin frowned. "Now it's not by choice so it doesn't feel quite as satisfying."

"I thought you wanted the credit for your good deeds?"

"All right, all right, stop being so clever," Merlin grumbled, sourly, "Just because you're a dragon doesn't mean I can't kick your backside in a duel."

"Oh really? Bring it on, _mighty _magician."

Rearing up onto his hind legs, Alizarin extended his rich crimson wings and allowed a burst of fire to escape his furnace of a mouth. The flames curled in beautiful patterns in the air before dissolving into nothingness, only the merest trace of smoke to show they'd ever been there. Merlin watched, somewhat in awe, as he realised how much he'd missed the dragon.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Arthur's strained voice cut through their playful battle. "Careful Ali or you'll get half the castle guard down here. Father's being very wary of anything unusual."

"Your father is always wary," the dragon pointed out, wryly. "And _everything _counts as unusual to him."

The prince made a very un-princely face. "That may be so but I've already been through hell to keep Merlin's head on his shoulders; I don't want to have to do the same for yours. It's better to keep you secret."

"Oi, I did most of my own saving, thank you very much," Merlin interjected, indignantly.

"Trust me, Merlin, if you didn't have me on side then my father wouldn't have even have let you take one step in Camelot," Arthur rebuffed the boy easily, clapping a hand on his hanging leg. "Anyway, I don't want to see Alizarin locked under the castle like Kilgharrah was."

"Even if your father knew I was here, he wouldn't catch me. Trust _me _when I say that it takes a Dragonlord to capture a dragon and as your father doesn't have any of those to hand because he killed them all, I think I'll be just fine. Even so, I won't be coming back."

"Aw, why not?" Merlin frowned.

"I went away to do some thinking, as I told you, and ended up finding out more than I expected."

"Such as?"

The dragon sat down on his haunches once more and looked levelly at the two of them. "I'm not the only dragon left in existence."

There was a moment's silence.

"Cor blimey, I think that title should be null by now. Do you keep reproducing with air or something?" Arthur exclaimed, "Or beyond the grave?" Seeing Merlin's reaction to that one, the prince flushed. "Sorry, that was insensitive."

"We know you can't help it," Merlin smiled with faux sympathy, patting his friend on the shoulder in a patronising manner. "It's 'how you were born'."

"Ha, ha. But seriously, how can there be more of you? My father assured me that he had wiped out all the dragons but the one in his cellar and then you turn up and then Zalmon turns up. How is that possible?"

"The king doesn't know everything. Besides, there's a whole undiscovered world out there, how on earth could he expect to destroy _all _dragons?" Alizarin asked, flippantly.

Arthur scowled, looking like a little boy who'd been told he was being silly. "I thought they might be native to Britain."

"And I thought Kilgharrah would have sensed other dragon's with that telepathy thing you have going on," Merlin interrupted. "How does that work?"

"Hang on, what telepathy thing?" Arthur looked bewildered.

Merlin waved him away. "Shh, Arthur." The prince did not look impressed.

"They're a slightly different species," Alizarin shrugged, "And they reside in the far, far east where they are worshipped by humans instead of hunted and destroyed by tyrants." He looked pointedly at Arthur. "I've decided to go there."

"What? You're leaving? But what about Arthur?" Merlin blurted out the last part and then his hand flew to his mouth and his blue eyes widened.

"What _about_ me?" Arthur butted in, confused. Registering the look that passed between the huge scarlet dragon and the scrawny youth, he felt his heart thump a little faster in anticipation. His eyes flickered first to Alizarin who looked surprised and then to Merlin who looked very sheepish as he kicked the leaf litter uncomfortably. "What _about _me?" the prince repeated, forcefully.

"You didn't tell him?" the dragon said, directing his question at Merlin.

"Tell me _what_?" Arthur yelled, frustrated. He didn't like being left out of the loop at all and he certainly didn't like the fact that his friend was keeping _more _secrets from him. He couldn't handle that. They were meant to trust each other implicitly; that was the deal.

Offering the young warlock a quirked eyebrow of disbelief, Alizarin turned his attention to Arthur who was practically foaming at the mouth in annoyance. There was an unknown emotion flickering in the dragon's golden orbs and, as the prince scrutinised his eyes, Arthur realised for the first time that they were not just one colour but varying shades of gold, light amber and even ruby red near the centre, around the iris. Entrancing and yet wholly unreadable.

"Arthur, you must understand that I gave you part of my heart to save your life," Alizarin began.

"Yes, I got that. Thanks by the way."

The great red beast nodded, seemingly deciding on how best to word his next sentence. "But as part of _me _is now inside _you_, well, you have inherited some of my qualities."

Arthur stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. "Surely that's a good thing?"

"Arthur," the dragon sighed, heavily, "You've received my near immortality. As long as I live, you can't die."

"But you live for thousands of years," Arthur breathed.

"And you will too, I'm afraid. That was the price of your life and Merlin agreed to it."

"Oh, thanks," the boy muttered, darkly, staring deliberately at his feet, "Make it seem like _I'm _the bad person." Then he lifted his gaze to his friend and trained its intenseness on Arthur. "I couldn't let you die, Arthur, not after everything."

Arthur merely gaped at them both, his head rotating to one and then the other before he had to lean against a nearby tree for support. Raking fingers through his blond hair, the prince seemed to be deciding how to react to what he had been told. It wasn't everyday that you were told that you'd live for another thousand or two years. He couldn't believe it. That meant that he would outlive all the people he loved and cared about….well, just Merlin, Gwen and Morgana at the moment but potentially a family - _children_. He would be king for a very, very long time. Would he ever even need an heir? Such a thought seemed ridiculous; to not need an heir went against everything he'd ever been taught. It was his job to continue the Pendragon lineage.

All this was too much to take in and he burst out, abruptly, saying the first thing that popped into his brain. "Will I age?"

Both Alizarin and Merlin stared at him, somewhat astonished by his words.

"What?"

"_I'm sorry_ for sounding vain," Arthur declared, brandishing his arms wildly, "But a thousand years is a bloody long time and if I age normally then I'll end up looking like a prune – a _tiny,_ shrivelled _prune_!"

"And your point is?" Merlin quipped, slyly, but received a glare for his trouble.

"I don't know," Alizarin answered, truthfully, "I would say probably not."

Arthur nodded and rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully. Then he said, slowly, "I _suppose _I should look on the bright side of this and not dwell on all the bad stuff because there is nothing that can be done after all." He glanced into the sky and traced the outlines of the wispy clouds with his eyes. Suddenly, he looked fiercely at Merlin. "We don't tell my father though, got it?"

"Trust me," Merlin spluttered, shaking his head and looking incredulous at the idea, "I wasn't planning on telling Uther Pendragon that I gave his son a dragon heart."

"That's all right then," Arthur said, decisively. Then he levelled his gaze on Alizarin. "I understand that you want to go but you must promise me that you'll come back and visit because I'll get lonely and probably-"

"Need a shoulder to cry on?" Merlin piped up.

Arthur blanched. "I do _not _cry!"

"Fine, I'm sorry!"

"Anyway, I'll need to talk to you and….well, yeah. We'll miss you, you know."

"Likewise," Alizarin smiled, showing familiar rows of gleaming white teeth. "But this is for the best, trust me."

"Thank you for everything, Ali," Merlin said, sincerely.

"Yes. Thank you again."

Allowing Merlin to give him one last hug around his enormous neck, the dragon offered them both his trademark wolfish grin and clambered to his feet. With a swish of his tail and a flex of his massive wings, the scarlet beast rose into the air as gracefully as a plume of smoke. Moments later, he was merely a black speck in the clear blue abyss of the sky.

For a while both Merlin and Arthur stood in the forest clearing in silence, both lost in thought. Then…

"I've just realised something," the golden haired prince stated, turning to look at his friend and cocking his head, "You knew that I would live for a _very _long time no matter what and yet you took the job as my _bodyguard_?"

Merlin offered him a hangdog grin.

"You lazy sod!"

**And there we have it. Done. Perhaps not the best ending but meh, I've had enough and I just wanted closure. Lol. :-)**

**I really hope you have all enjoyed reading my story on this very, very long journey of ours and that perhaps you pop in again some time to read any future fics I may write. Which will not be for awhile, trust me. **

**Thank you all so much for the reviews and the support. I honestly couldn't have done it without you. I can't believe we reached over a thousand reviews. Is that a record on the Merlin fandom? I don't know. Anyway, it made me so proud and happy. Thank you AGAIN! **

**Could you review one last time with an overview or something like that?? Thanks!**

**Bye!**

**Ps. Sorry I didn't mention Seg or Tristram. **


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